UC-NRLF 


loH  4 


SAILOR  TOWN 
C.  FOX  SMITH 


SAILOR  TOWN 

SEA  SONGS  AND  BALLADS 

BY 

C.  FOX  SMITH 

AXJTHOR   OF  "small  CRAFT,"  ETC. 


NEW  ^S^  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COIVIPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1919, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


The  Author's  thanks  for  permission  to  reprint 
are  due  to  the  Editors  of  the  following:  Black' 
wood*s  Magazine,  The  Spectator,  Pall  Mall  Maga- 
zine, Windsor  Magazine,  Country  Life,  West- 
minster Gazette,  Sphere,  Daily  Chronicle,  and 
Fwnch, 


CONTENTS 

I:  SAILOR  TOWN  p^o^ 

Sailob  Town 11 

The  Ballad  OF  THE  "Matterhobn" 13 

Bill  the  Dreamer 18 

The  Last  of  the  Sealing  Fleet 20 

Gerrans  Churchtown 23 

The  OuLD  Has-been 25 

Rio  Grande 28 

The  Ballad  of  the  Only  Love 30 

Rolling  Home 34 

The  China  Sea 37 

A  Channel  Rhyme 40 

Rathlin  Head 42 

The  Sailor's  Garden 45 

Market  Day 47 

Mother  Carey 49 

The  Ship's  Good-bye 51 

"Let  Her  Go!" 53 

Hastings  Mill 56 

Dead  Man's  Bay 58 

The  Green  Thicket 60 

A  Declaration  of  War 62 

— ^vii — 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Prairie  Shepherd 66 

Traveller's  Rest 69 

Shipmate  Sorrow 71 

The  Rhyme  OP  THE  "Inisfail" 73 

II:  THE  NAVAL  CROWN 

The  Ballad  OF  THE  "Eastern  Crown" 81 

British  Merchant  Service,  1915 85 

The  Younger  Son 88 

The  North  Sea  Ground 91 

Royal  Naval  Reserve 94 

The  "Orion's"  Figurehead  at  Whitehall 97 

The  Return  op  the  Prodigal 100 

Captain  Paul  Jones 103 

The  Ballad  op  the  Hun  King's  Dream 105 

Newfoundland's  Gift 108 

Saint  Patrick's  Day  in  the  Morning 110 

The  Happy  Warrior 112 

Armed  Merchantmen:  An  Old  Song  Re-sung      .    .    .    .  114 

Stormy  Dusk 116 

The  Lowland  Sea 118 

The  Traveller 120 

Salvage 123 

War  Risks 125 

The  Pirate's  Only  Delight 127 

Clare's  Brigade 128 

— ^viii — 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Recruit 129 

The  Knitters 131 

The  Mouth-organ 132 

The  Furrow 134 

After  Dark 136 


-IX- 


I:  SAILOR  TOWN 


'    >        »  1 ' 


SAILOR  TOWN 


SAILOR  TOWN 

Along  the  wharves  in  sailor  town  a  singing  whisper 

goes 
Of  the  wind  among  the  anchored  ships,  the  wind 

that  blows 
Off  a  broad  brimming  water,  where  the  summer  day 

has  died 
Like  a  wounded  whale  a-sounding  in  the  sunset  tide. 

There's  a  big  China  liner  gleaming  hke  a  gull, 
And  her  lit  ports  fls^shing;  there's  the  long  gaunt 

hull 
Of  a  Blue  Funnel  freighter  with  her  derricks  dark 

and  still; 
And  a  tall  barque  loading  at  the  lumber  mill. 

And  in  the  shops  of  sailor  town  is  every  kind  of 

thing 
That  the  sailormen  buy  there,  or  the  ships*  crews 

bring: 

—11— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Bh4<^kJes;  for- a,'<sea-chest  and  pink  cockatoos, 
Fifty-cent  alarum  clocks  and  dead  men's  shoes. 

You  can  hear  the  gulls   crying,  and  the  cheerful 

noise 
Of  a  concertina  going,  and  a  singer's  voice — 
And  the  wind's  song  and  the  tide's  song,  crooning 

soft  and  low 
Rum  old  tunes  in  sailor  town  that  seamen  know. 

I  dreamed  a  dream  In  sailor  town,  a  foolish  dream 

and  vain. 
Of    ships    and   men    departed,    of    old    days    come 

again — 
And  an  old  song  in  sailor  town,  an  old  song  to  sing 
When  shipmate  meets  with  shipmate  in  the  evening. 


—12— 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  "MATTERHORN" 

By  Casey's  Occidental  Rooms,  when  the  sun  is  get- 
ting low, 

The  chattering  crowds  of  Chinatown  along  the 
pavements  go, 

And  there  you'U  hear  the  wrangling  gulls  about  the 
harbour-side, 

And  see  the  ships  come  in  which  use  the  oceans  deep 
and   wide. 

And  smell  the  smell  o'  the  waterfront,  the  shipping 
and  the  tide. 


And  there  do  meet  all  brands  o'  folk  which  on  the 

Coast  are  found, 
From  Behring  Strait  to  Mexico,  from  'Frisco  and 

the   Sound, 
The  Dago  and  the  Dutchman  there,  with  all  queer 

breeds  that  be. 
Stand  up  to  drink  with  Jap  and  Chink  beside  the 

sunset  sea. 

—13— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


And  there  do  swear  and  fight  and  lie  and  leave  their 

pay  behind 
The  whalers  and  the  tugboat  men  and  the  loggers 

rolling  blind; 
And  there  the  Siwash  and  the  Sikh  go  jostling  side 

by  side, 
And  sailormen  blow  out  and  in,  like  driftlogs  tide 

by  tide. 


By  Casey's  Occidental  Rooms,  as  I  was  strolling  by 
And  thinking  over  this  and  that,  and  things  both 

far  and  nigh, 
There  chanced  to  meet  me  face  to  face  a  man  I  used 

to  know. 
That  sailed  with  me  in  the  "Matterhom"  in  a  day 

that's  long  ago. 


And  "Oh,  Lord  love  you,  Mike,"  I  said,  and  took 

him  by  the  hand, 
"Do  you  sail  yet  in  the  'Matterhorn'  and  are  you 

long  for  land? 
It's  good  to  see  your  face  again,  these  longshore 

lads  among, 
To  'mind  me  of  the  'Matterhom'  and  the  time  when 

I  was  young." 
•—14-- 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  "MATTERHORN" 

"If  I  had  sailed  in  the  *Matterhom'  it  is  not  here 

I'd  be, 
And  thirsty  as  the  hob  of  hell  as  I  am  now,"  said 

he, 
"A  bitter  drink  I'd  sup  among  the  cold  and  clammy 

dead 
If  I  had  signed  in  the  'Matterhorn'  when  last  she 

sailed,"   he    said. 


"She's  gone,  and  none  but  old  Cape  Stiff  can  tell 

the  when  or  how, 
And  them  that  watch  the  Hsts  for  her,  they're  tired 

o'  watching  now; 
Far  down,  far  down  in  Dead  Man's  Bay  both  ship 

and  men  do  lie, 
And  the  'Lutine'  bell  has  rung  for  her  this  many  a 

day  gone  by. 


"I  saw  her  sail  from  Salthouse  Dock — the  sun  was 

risin'  red. 
And  'See  you  next  in  Callao'  my  friends  aboard  her 

said; 
'Tween  Callao  and  Liverpool  a  many  ports  there  be, 
And  many  men  I'U  meet  again — but  them  I  shall  not 

see. 

—15— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


"Well,   safe  we  got  to  Callao,  but  we  were  long 

a-going, 
The  old  tub  leaking  like  a  sieve,  old  Horn  his  hardest 

blowing ; 
The  big  seas  swept  her  fore  and  aft;  the  sails  they 

cut  like  steel; 
Our  bodies  to  the  yards  they  froze,  our  hands  froze 

to   the  wheel. 

"And  them  that  sailed  before  us  came,  and  most 

that  since  did  sail, 
They  came  all  battered  with  the  seas  and  broken 

with  the  gale ; 
And  one  that  had  been  missing  long,  with  sticks  all 

snapped  and  shorn 
Limped  in  to  tell  her  tale  ashore,  but  not  the  'Mat- 

terhom.' 

"So  last  we  knew  that  she  was  gone,  as  best  and 

worst  may  go. 
The  good  ship  and  the  bad  likewise,  the  fast  ship 

and  the  slow; 
A   fast  ship  was  the  *Matterhom*  when  all  them 

kites  was  spread, 
A  fast  ship  and  a  fine  she  was — "  "Aye,  she  was 

fast,"  I  said. 

«  •  •  »  • 

—16— 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  "MATTERHORN" 

From  course  to  skysail  up  she  soared  like  a  mid- 
summer cloud; 

In  all  this  earth  I  have  not  seen  a  thing  more 
brave  and  proud; 

And  she  is  gone  as  dreams  do  go,  or  a  song  sung 
long  before, 

Or  the  golden  years  of  a  man's  youth  when  they 
are  his  no  more. 

And  all  the  shining  moons  of  youth,  and  all  the 
stars  of  dream 

Were  tangled  in  her  topmost  spars  and  through 
her  shrouds  did  gleam; 

Now  thundering  like  a  North  Sea  gale,  now  hum- 
ming faint  and  low, 

Came  singing  with  her  down  the  years  the  winds  of 
long  ago. 

By  Casey's  Occidental  Rooms  a  bitter  thing  I  heard. 
With  a  heavy  heart  I  turned  away,  and  long  I  spoke 

no  word; 
I  bared  my  head  there  where  I  stood,  "God  rest  her 

soul,"  I  said, 
As  if  a  woman  I  had  loved  in  a  far  land  was  dead. 


-17— 


BILL  THE   DREAMER 

"Some  day  when  I'm  rich  (said  Bill)  I'm  going  to 

leave  the  sea, 
Sail  an'  steam  alike  '11  see  the  livin'  last  o'  me ; 
And  'bout  ship  or  heave  her  to,  they'll  rouse  me  out 

no  more. 
In  a  clean  quiet  cottage  like  I've  often  seen  ashore, 
With  hen  and  chickens,  daisies  growin'  by  the  door. 

**Quiet  will  the  days  come  and  easy  will  go, 
Smoking  of  my  pipe  there  and  workin'  with  a  hoe, 
And  thinkin'  of  poor  mates  o'  mine  toiling  in  the 

cold 
That  hadn't  sense  to  leave  it  an'  they  growing  old. 

**For  when  all's  said  and  done,  lads,  it's  little  short 

o'  sin 
To  spend  your  money  foolish  that's  bitter  hard  to 

win; 
I'll  save  my  pay  a  year  or  two,  and  then  I'll  sail  no 

more. 
Sitting  down  so  easy  in  my  little  place  ashore." 
—18— 


BILL  THE  DREAMER 


And  so  went  his  yarn  on  and  so  would  he  say — 
Round  the  Horn  with  hurricanes  blowing  all  the  way, 
All  the  way  from  Callao  trudging  home  again 
To  the  Bar  light  shining  in  the  cold  and  rain. 

But  who's  to  keep  from  share  and  share  with  friends 

o'  the  best? 
And  girls  along  the  waterfront,  they'll  help  to  spend 

the  rest; 
And  the  cottage  and  the  garden  and  the  daisies  at 

the  door, 
They  went  the  way  of  many  dreams  when  sailors 

come  to  shore. 

And  he's  rolling  down  to  Rio  with  a  drunken  Dago 

crew, 
And  the  deadheads   under  hatches  till  they've  got 

their  groaning  through; 
Yes,  he's  rolling  down  to  Rio  as  he's  often  done 

before, 
And  will  do  till  the  day  comes  for  Bill  to  sail  no 

more. 
When  the  ninth  wave,  the  last  wave,  shall  bring  him 

to  shore! 


—19— 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  SEALING  FLEET 

All  in  the  slime  of  the  stagnant  Arm,  the  moulder- 
ing slips  beside, 

Where  dark  as  sin  slinks  out  and  in  the  fouled  and 
furtive  tide, 

There,  slowly  parting  strake  from  strake,  the  poor 
old  sealers  lie. 

And  whisper  to  the  jostling  booms  of  a  brave  day 
gone  by. 

Unkept,  uncaulked,  their  gaping  decks  are  blistered, 

bleached  and  bare; 
Along  their  keels  the  chuckling  ebb  mocks  at  their 

blind  despair; 
And  ever  like  a  ghostly  tune  through  rotted  ropes 

and  green 
Runs  the  shrill  keening  of  the  wind  and  the  long 

sob  between. 

"Oh,  south  away  to  'Frisco  Bay  the  open  seas  do 

roll, 
And   north   to   the   white   bear's   hunting  grounds 
about  the  lonely  Pole ; 
—20— 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  SEALING  FLEET 

And  at  ratting  time  on  the  PribylofFs  the  lusting 

seals  do  roar, 
But  we'll  go  out  by  Bretchie  Ledge  on  the  sealer's 

road  no  more. 

*'0h,  north  away  from  'Frisco  Bay  the  tumbling  seas 

roll, 
Both  wide   and   free  to   Behring's   Sea  which  laps 

around  the  Pole: 
A  thousand  miles  from  'Frisco  Bay  the  feeding  seal 

may  fare 
With  never  a  foe  but  the  killer  whale  and  the  brown 

man  and  the  bear. 

"Yestereen  along  the  waterside  I  saw  my  captain  go, 
A  weary  and  a  broken  man,  with  lagging  step  and 

slow; 
Salt  was  his  blood  as  the  salt  tide  and  restless  as  the 

sea, 
And  like  the  sea  the  wild  blue  eye  that  there  (did 

gaze  on  me. 

"  *01d  ship,'  he  said,  *when  we  were  young  together, 

you  and  I, 
A  man's  life  I  lived  with  men  between  the  sea  and 

sky; 

—21— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


And  would  to  God  you  had  sunk  deep  and  I  also  had 

died 
Who  now  upon  the  land  decay  as  you  rot  in  the 

tide. 

"  *By  God,  it  were  a  kindlier  thing  to  make  an  end 

with  those 
Which  split  upon  the  uncharted  reef  or  splintered  in 

the  floes 
Than  to  cheat  death  a  hundred  times  and  last  to 

find  the  day 
When  a  man's  strength  must  fail  from  him  and  a 

good  ship  decay. 

"*And  north  away  from  'Frisco  Bay  the  plunging 

seals  do  go, 
But  never  a  schooner  plies  that  way  of  all  we  used 

to  know; 
And  there  the  spouting  bowhead  blows  and  the  grey 

gulls  do  soar. 
But  south  or  north  though  you  go  forth  you'll  find 

us  there  no  more.' " 


GERRANS  CHURCHTOWN 

The  spire  at  Gerrans  Churchtown,  it  stands  up  bold 

and  high, 
It  stands  above  the  harbour  and  sees  the  ships  go  by ; 
It   sees   the  long  tides  breaking   from  the  Gull  to 

Lizard  Head, 
The  blue-lights  and  the  searchlights,  the  living  and 

the  dead. 

The  lads   of  Gerrans   Churchtown,  a  roving  breed, 

are  they. 
With  their  mothers'  milk  they  tasted  the  salt  wind 

and  the  spray; 
The  sea  was  first  their  playmate,  he  licked  their  feet 

with   foam, 
The  lads   of  Gerrans   Churchtown  that  could  not 

bide  at  home. 

The   lads    of   Gerrans    Churchtown,   they're   where 

they're  wanted  now. 
They  cleave  their  fathers'  furrow,  their  grandsires' 

field   they   plough, — 

^23— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


A  field  of  many  acres  from  Scapa  Flow  to  Nore, — 
And  the  old  men  pull  the  lifeboat,  and  the  young 
lads  watch  the  shore. 

And  will  they  come  at  long  last?    .    .    .   Ay,  surely 

they  will  come, 
Some  day — a   day   to   dream   of — that  brings   the 

Grand  Fleet  home — 
From  peril,   toil  and  glory,   and  battles   overpast, 
The  bells  of  Gerrans  Churchtown  shall  ring  them 

home  at  last. 

Will    all    them    come    together?   .    .    .   Not    those 

whose  hearts   are  still 
In  a  wider  green  God*s-acre  than  lies  on  Gerrans 

hill; 
It's  a  brighter  sun  they  look  on  than  sets  in  yonder 

West, 
And  a  sweeter  bell  than  Gerrans'  has  rung  them  to 

their  rest. 


—24^ 


THE  OULD  HAS-BEEN 

All  down  by  the  harbour  a-walking  one  day, 
I  saw  an  old  hulk  by  the  wharf-side  that  lay, 
Her  topmasts  lopped  off  and  her  paint  weathered 

bare. 
Red  rust  flaking  off  her,  and  no  one  to  care. 

Then  met  I  a  man  standing  lounging  beside. 
Who  scornful  did  speak  as  he  spat  in  the  tide: 
"There  lies   an  ould  has-been  which  once  had  the 

name 
Of  a  seagoing  clipper,  a  clipper  of  fame! 

"Time  was  when  her  races,  with  grain  or  with  wool, 
Were  the  talk  of  the  crews,  'tween  Bombay  and  the 

Pool, 
When  the  tales  of  her  sailing  like  wildfire  did  fly 
From  Leith  to  Port  Philip,  from  Cork  to  Shanghai. 

"But  now  who's  a  glance  for  her,  limping  her  round 
With  coal  for  the  ferries  that  ply  on  the  Sound? 
And  who  that  now  sees  her  would  know  her  the 

same 
Which  once  was  a  clipper,  a  clipper  of  fame?" 

—25— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Oh,  long  I  stood  gazing  there,  sad  to  be  told 
How  all  men  neglected  her,  now  she  grew  old; 
And  my  heart  just  to  see  her  with  pity  was  sore 
F'or  her,  once  so  lovely,  now  lovely  no  more. 

I  marked  the  thick  grime  on  her  main-deck  forlorn, 
I  marked  the  poor  masts  of  her,  woeful  and  shorn; 
And  all  of  my  thought  was  that  sure  it  was  shame 
To  see  such  an  end  of  that  clipper  of  fame. 

I  thought  of  her  sailing,  so  hopeful  and  proud, 
The  dawn  on  her  sails  like  a  mountain  of  cloud; 
I  thought  of  her  battles,  none  stouter  than  she. 
With  the  strength  and  the  rage  of  her  rival  the  sea. 

Oh,  better  the  sea  that  so  long  she  did  use 

Should  take  her  and  break  her  as  good  ships  would 

choose. 
Some  chance  of  the  storm  or  some  mercy  of  flame 
Should  make  a  brave  end  of  that  clipper  of  fame. 

I  thought  of  her  captains,  how  once  they  would 

stand 
So  proud  on  the  poop  of  their  splendid  command; 
And  all  the  good  sailormen,  each  in  his  day 
That  loved  her,  and  left  her,  and  went  on  his  way. 
—26— 


THE  OULD  HAS-BEEN 


Oh,  scattered  the  world  through  to-day  they  must 

be. 
And  some  sleeping  sound  in  the  deeps  of  the  sea; 
And  some  will  be  old  men  grown  grizzled  and  lame, 
That  were  lads  like  myself  in  that  clipper  of  fame. 

But  no  one  can  steal  from  those  stubborn  old  sides 
The  secrets  she  shares  with  the  winds  and  the  tides, 
The  tales  that  she  tells  of  the  sea  and  the  sky 
To  the  weed  and  the  gulls  and  the  ships  going  by. 

And  I  took  off  my  cap  by  the  dingy  wharf-side 
To  the  grace  and  the  glory,  the  strength  and  the 

pride, 
That  all  were  her  portion  who  once  had  the  name 
In  a  day  that's  gone  by,  of  a  clipper  of  fame. 


—27— 


RIO  GRANDE 

There  lies   a  ship  at  her  moorings  out  there  on 

yonder  stream; 
Her  lines  upon  the  water  are  lovely  like  a  dream. 
And  like   a  dream   she'll   slip   away  with  the   first 

dawning   gleam, 
For  she's  bound  for  Rio  Grande  with  the  morning 

tide. 
Yes,  she's  bound  for  Rio  Grande,  and  it's  there  that 

I  would  be. 
And   every   rope   aboard   of   her   is    singing   to    be 

free; 
Oh,  good-bye  to  your  sweetheart  dear  and  good-bye 

to  your  bride 
If  you're  bound  for  Rio  Grande  with  the  morning 

tide! 


I  heard  the   seagulls   piping  round,   and   all  they 

seemed  to  say 
Was,  "Come  you  out,  young  sailorman,  it's  time  to 
come  away, 
—28-— 


RIO  GRAND] 


Oh,  heave  your  donkey's   breakfast  in,  there  isn't 

time  to  stay 
If  you're  bound  for  Rio  Grande  with  the  morning 

tide 
If  you're  bound  for  Rio  Grande  away,  and  oceans 

two  or  three. 
And  ports  a  plenty  up  and  down  for  likely  lads  to 

see. 
All  across  the  seas,  Johnnie,  round  the  world  so 

wide 
Going  out  to  Rio  Grande  with  the  morning  tide." 

The  lights  in  Paddy  Ryan's  bar  they're  shining  on 

the  shore; 
Bid  your  friends  good-bye,  Johnnie,  pay  you  now 

your  score, 
For  you  don't  want  the  sight  nor  smell  o'  the  har- 
bour any  more; 
When   you're   bound   for  Rio   Grande  with   the 

morning  tide. 
And  "away  my  rolling  river" — for  the  sun's  put  out 

the  stars 
A-tangle  in  her  royal  yards,  and  the  frost  is  on  her 

spars ; 
Oh,  the  deep  sea  hunger's  hold  of  her,  and  not  to 

be  denied, 
Going  out  to  Rio  Grande  with  the  morning  tide ! 

—^9— 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  ONLY  LOVE 

Oh,  have  you  been  to   the  Rio  Grande,  or  yet  in 

'Frisco  town. 
Or  west  away  in  Mobile  Bay  where  they  roll  the 

cotton  down? 
Oh,  have  you  been  in  any  place  where  sailors  come 

from  sea, 
And  saw  you  there  my  only  love  that  sends  no  word 

to  me? 


Oh,  does  he  walk  with  a  yaller  gal  forgetting  to  be 

true. 
Or  drink  with  pals  in  sailor-town  as  many  sailors 

do? 
Does  he  with  strangers  fill  his  glass  and  to  them 

sing  his  song, 
And  never  think  of  his  only  love — 

His  only  love,  his  only  love — 
And  never  think  of  his  own  true  love  that  waits  for 

him  so  long? 
—30-^ 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  ONLY  LOVE 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  your  only  love,  and  spoken  with 

him  also, 
And  it  wasn't  very  far  away  nor  very  long  ago ; 
He  said,  'Oh,  tell  my  gal  at  home  to  forget  me  if  she 

can 
And  she'd  better  get  another  love  that  ain't  a  sailor- 


"But  he  doesn't  walk  with  no  yaller  gal,  I  tell  you 

straight  and  plain. 
And  there's  never  a  pal  in  sailor-town  '11  drink  with 

him   again ; 
We  buried  him  out  of  an  open  boat  a  hundred  miles 

from  shore, 
And  you'd  better  get  another  love — 

Another  love,  another  love — 
Oh,  you'd   better  get  another  love,   for  he'll  come 

home  no  more. 

"Our  ship  was  sunk  in  the  light  of  day,  as  plenty 

more  have  been. 
In  the  North  Atlantic  homeward  bound  by  a  pirate 

submarine, 
And   we  was   drifting  many   a   day   and   food   and 

drink  had  none, 
When  a  cruiser  picked  us  up  at  last  at  the  rising  o' 

the  sun. 

—31— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


"Your  man   was   first   to   go,   poor   chap,   he   was 

crazed-like  in  his  head, 
Along   o'   drinking   sea-water,   for   all  the   captain 

said. 
'I'll  marry  my  lass  with  a  ring,'  he'd  say,  *when  I 

get  in  from  sea, 
And  she  shall  be  my  only  love — 

My  only  love,  my  only  love — 
Oh,  she  shall  be  my  own  dear  love,  for  I  know  that 

she  loves  me.'  '* 


Oh,  cold,  cold  are  the  Atlantic  deeps,  and  very  wide 

the  sea. 
With  all  its  weight  of  stormy  waves  between  my 

love  and  me; 
And  wide  and  deep  the  tide  o'  time  a-rolling  year 

on  year. 
But  there'll  be  no  parting  after  death  for  us  that 

loved   so   dear. 


Oh,  many  a  sailor  will  come  home,  and  many  a  ship 

from  sea, 
But  never  a  ship  on  any  tide  will  bring  my  lad  to 

me. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  ONLY  LOVE 

And  the  long,  long  days  they'll  come  and  go,  and 

the  lonely  years  pass  by, 
But  I  will  keep  my  only  love — 

My  only  love,  my  only  love — 
Oh,  I  will  keep  my  only  love  until  the  day  I  die! 


-33— 


ROLLING  HOME 

Oh,  there's  places  up  and  down  that  are  queer  and 

quaint  and  pretty ; 
Sydney's  a  pleasant  port,  'Frisco's  a  giddy  city ; 
But  the  day's  bound  to  come  when  your  heart  be- 
gins to  weary 
Of  big  cities  and  small,  gay  cities  and  dreary, 
For  an  island  in  the  sea,  and  the  kind  rain  falling. 
When  you  break  the  anchor  out,  with  your  heart  in 
the  hauling. 

Heave,    and    wake    the    dead!    .    .    .    Oh,    if    folks 

would  do  it  for  me. 
It's  I  would  carry  on  though  the  gales  blew  ne'er 

so  stormy; 
Oh,  if  I  was  a  Finn  I  would  whistle  up  fair  weather 
All  the  way  from  here  to  England   .    .    .    oh,  heave 

together ! 

Good,  ah,  good  it  is  when  you're  young  and  all's 

before  ye. 
For  to  leave  the  things  you  know  and  the  old  land 

that  bore  ye, 
—34— 


ROLLING  HOME 


For  to  know  many  lands  and  to  see  many  places ; 
But  the  warm  English  hearts  and  the  kind  English 

faces. 
But  a  fireside  you  know  and  a  red  fire  there  burning, 
Good  they  are  to  think  about  when  you're  homeward 

turning. 


Heave  and  come  she  must  ..    .,   .   for  to-morrow's 

got  to  find  us 
Laying  homeward  all  we  know,  kicking  up  the  dust 

behind  us ; 
We've  a  long  road  to  travel,  and  the  more  that  we 

linger,    ' 
Why,  the  longer  till  we're  home  ,.j  ,.   ,.j  so  heave  and 

bring  her! 


Oh,  we  may  be  half  a  year  or  we  may  be  rather 

longer, 
And  if  but  the  wind  blow  fair,  then  I  wish  it  may 

blow  stronger; 
Just    a    few    thousand    miles,    or   perhaps    a   little 

further, 
Just  a  few  thousand  miles  till  at  long  last  we  berth 

her, 

—86— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Till  by  harbour  lights  we  know  at  the  last  we  steer 

in   .    .    . 
And  if  Christmas  Day  is  past,  why  we'll  bring  the 

New  Year  in  I 

Heave  and  break  her  out!  .   t.    .   We've  a  little  way 

to  cover, 
But  we'll  go  all  the  way  gay  and  lightly  like  a  lover 
With    a   posy    for   his    lass    and    a   ring    for   her 

finger  .    .    . 
Heave    and    break   her  out  .•j  l»j  l..  heave    all,    and 

bring  her  I 


-36— 


THE  CHINA  SEA 

Did  you  see  the  poor  old  hooker,  by  the  ocean  wharf 

she  lay? 
Her  decks  are  foul  with  harbour  grime,  she  hasn't 

long  to  stay, 
With  her  cargo  all  aboard  her  and  the  Peter  flying 

free, 
And  a  seagull  pn  her  foretop  a-looking  out  to  sea. 

She's  loaded  up  to  the  fairleads  and  down  to  the 

PlimsoU  line. 
Her  bilges  choked  and  her  bulkheads  sprung,  and 

the  pumps  tied  up  with  twine. 
And  it's  fare  you  well,  good  comrades  all,  for  aboard 

her  we  must  be: 
A  call  or  two  we've  got  to  pay,  a  call  or  two  upon 
the  way, 

From  Liverpool  to  'Frisco  Bay, 

And  all  across  the  China  Sea. 
Oh,  think  you  of  us,  if  you  will,  you  friends  we  leave 

at  home, 
A-listing  like  a  log  in  the  lone  Atlantic  foam ; 

—37— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Oh  think  you  of  us  now  and  then,  ill-fitted  and  worse 

found, 
A-hanging  on  the  skirts  of  luck  this  weary  world 

around. 

They've    changed    her   name    and    register,    they'll 

never  change  her  soul; 
For  rolling  of  her  innards   out  and  eating  up  of 

coal ; 
There  is  no  ship  that  sails  the  seas  can  far  or  near 

compare 
With  this  weary  worn  old  packet  from  the  port  of 

God  knows  where! 

She'll  drown  us  if  she  can,  the  jade,  she's  drowned 

her  man  before; 
She'll  fling  her  rusty  bones  and  ours  to  roll  'tween 

shore  and  shore. 
Or  chartless  on  her  drunken  way  go  tumbling  tide 

by  tide 
To   trip   the   feet   of   merchantmen   which   use   the 

oceans  wide. 

They  rouse  us  not  by  night  or  day  to  spend  our 

watch  below 
In  getting  leaky  lifeboats  out  and  teaching  cooks  to 

row; 
—38— 


THE  CHINA  SEA 


And  if  the  worse  should  come,  why  then  let  ship  and 

all  go  down, 
For  we  be  only  sailormen,  and  we  are  paid  to  drown. 

Oh,    turn   you    right    and    round    about   upon   the 

English  shore; 
Oh,  look  you  long  on  England,  lads,  you  may  not 

see  her  more; 
And  when  we're  out  of  soundings  and  the  Biscay 

gales  do  blow, 
God  help  us  if  the  cargo  shifts,  for  then  we're  bound 

to  go. 

And  she's  loaded  up  to  the  fairleads,  and  down  to 

the  Plimsoll  line. 
Her  bilges  choked  and  her  bulkheads  sprung,  and 

the  pumps  tied  up  with  twine: 
And  it's  fare  you  well,  good  comrades  all,  for  aboard 

her  we  must  be, 
A  call  or  two  we've  got  to  pay,  a  call  or  two  upon 

the  way, 

From  Liverpool  to  'Frisco  Bay, 

And  all  across  the  China  Sea. 


^39— 


A  CHANNEL  RHYME 

Stab,  Point  and  Beachy  Head 
Tell  their  tale  of  quick  and  dead. 

Forelands  both  and  Dungeness 
See  many  a  ship  in  dire  distress. 

,The  Lizard  and  the  Longships  know 
Oft  the  end  of  friend  and  foe. 

And  many  and  many  a  seaman's  knell 
Has  been  rung  by  Manacles  bell. 

Gull  and  Dodman  ask  aright 
A  wide  berth  on  a  dirty  night. 

Bolt  Head  and  Bolt  Tail 

Are  ill  spots  in  a  Channel  gale. 

Over  nigh  to  Portland  Bill 
In  Channel  fog  it's  just  as  ill. 
-40— 


A  CHANNEL  RHYME 


And  Wolf  Rock  and  Seven  Stones 
Rest  their  feet  on  sailors'  bones. 

But  from  Nore  Light  to  Cape  Cornwall 
Goodwin  Sands  are  worst  of  all! 


—4.1— 


RATHLIN  HEAD 

We  left  the  murk  of  Merseyside,  we  left  the  flaring 
town; 

All  smouldering  red  by  Spanish  Head  the  stormy 
sun  went  down. 

We  saw  the  lamp  blink  out  and  in  on  the  Mull  o* 
Galloway, 

And  at  dead  of  night  to  Rathlin  light  a  long  good- 
bye did  say, 

On  a  bitter  cold  night  in  the  morning  watch, 
A  little  before  the  day! 

Black  deep  of  night  without  a  star  both  sky  and 

sea  did  fiU; 
So  cautious  crept  we  through  the  dark  our  engines 

near  stood  still. 
All  salt  like   tears   on  rope  and  rail  the  sea  mist 

clinging   grey    .    .    . 
And  Rathlin  Island  close  to  port,  Kintyre  to  star- 
board lay. 

On  a  bitter  cold  night  in  the  morning  watch, 
A  little  before  the  day! 
—42— 


RATHLIN  HEAD 


We  heard  across  the  blind  black  tide  the  lighthouse 

boom  forlorn, 
All  night  we  heard  a  Glasgow  barque  blowing  the 

old   cow's   horn; 
And  groping  slow  we  passed  her  by  a  bare  ship's 

length  away — 
"A  near  thing  with  the  barque,"  was  all  I  heard  the 

old  man  say, 

On  a  bitter  cold  night  in  the  morning  watch, 
A  little  before  the  day! 

All  houseless  stretch  the  unfenced  fields  that  cold 

and  green  do  roll 
Where  winds  do  herd  the  berg  and  floe  which  calve 

about  the  Pole, 
Oh,  peace  be  on  the  small  green  fields  of  a  land 

that's  far  away. 
And  on  the  little  farms  therein  where  folk  a-sleep- 

ing  lay, 

On  a  bitter  cold  night  in  the  morning  watch, 
A  little  before  the  day! 

And  oh,  good-bye  the  narrow  seas  and  forelands 

loud  wi'  foam! 
There's  many  a  turning  in  the  road  that  brings  the 

sailor  home; 

—43— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Full  speed  once  more  our  engines  throbbed  as  faint 

the  east  grew  grey, 
I  turned  my  face  to  Rathlin  Head,  a  long  good-bye 
to  say, 

On  a  bitter  cold  night  in  the  morning  watch, 
A  little  before  the  day! 


THE  SAILOR'S  GARDEN 

There's  a  soft  wind  singing  in  the  idle  rigging, 
High  tide  splashing,  and  a  young  pale  moon. 

Lights  in  a  window  and  a  fiddle  jigging 
Over  and  over  there  the  same  short  tune. 

Oh,  was  it  the  tide  along  the  ship's  side  sighing. 
Or  was   it   the  singing  wind   that  breathes   and 
blows. 

Came  like  a  voice  across  the  deep  seas  crying. 
Set  my  heart  a- thinking  how  my  garden  grows? 

Five  years  ago  it  was  I  planted  roses. 
Five  years  ago  (the  bush  is  grown  a  tree) : 

Five  years  ago,  and  once  I've  seen  my  posies. 

Five  years  ago — and  once  they  bloomed  for  me! 

I  was  home  in  Spring;  bloom  was  on  the  May  then, 
Birds  all  were  building  and  buds  on  the  tree! 

When  the  birds  were  flown,  oh,  I  was  far  away  then ; 
When  the  rose  was  open  I  was  far  at  sea. 


SAILOR  TOWN 


I  was  home  in  Autumn ;  winds  of  cold  November 
Shaking  the  leaf  that  shivered  on  the  tree; 

Brown  leaves  that  sighed  for  sorrow  to  remember 
Flowers  that  had  fallen  and  I  far  at  sea. 

Oh,  many  are  the  roads  that  lead  you  here  and 
yonder, 
Oh,  many  are  the  ways  about  the  world  that  go ; 
But  the  longest  way  of   all's   the   sailor's  way  to 
wander 
To  the  good  North  Country  and  an  isle  I  know. 

Oh,  many  are  the  winds  about  the  seas  a-singing. 
Oh,  many  are  the  songs  "bhey  sing  both  night  and 
noon: 
But  whether  it  be  good  or  ill  that  they  come  bring- 
ing 
The  best  of  all*s  the  wind  that  blows  us  home  in 
June. 

Home,  home  in  June — and  soon  to  be  a-going; 

Home,  home  in  June — ^we  may  not  long  remain; 
Home,  home  in  June,  just  to  see  the  garden  growing. 

And  then  fare  you  well  till  you  greet  us  home 
again. 


—46— 


MARKET  DAY 

As  I  rode  on  the  limber 

Through  the  old  French  market-square, 
There  were  bricks  and  fallen  timber 

And    shell-holes    everywhere. 

The  place  was  blank  as  Sunday, 
But  something  seemed  to  say: 

"To-day  is    surely   Monday, 
And  Monday's  market  day. 

"Oh,  all  along  the  by-road 

That  goes  by  Three  Maids  Down, 

And  the  long,  straight  Roman  high-road, 
They're  driving  in  to  town. 

"They  drive  the  colt  in  the  gig  now 

I'd  just  begun  to  ride, 
And  the  setter  pup's  grown  big  now, 

And  maybe  runs  beside. 

"The  gentry  use  'The  Garter,' 
The  farmers  use  'The  Plough,' 

—47- 


SAILOR  TOWN 


And  the  rest  'The  Jolly  Carter,' 
Or  else  the  old  'Brown  Cow.* 

*'There  are  crowds  o'  horses  baiting — 
There's  one  in  every  stall — 

And  the  carriers'  carts  stand  waiting 
Outside  the  Market  Hall. 

^'There's  a  fellow  selling  halters, 
And  another  hawking  cloam, 

For  nothing  ever   alters 
On  market  day  at  home." 

Oh,  I'll  shake  a  leg  and  go  there, 

When  leave  comes  round  once  more. 

And  all  the  folks  I  know  there 
Will  stand  in  every  door. 

And,  strolling  down  the  street  there, 
On  the  sunny  side  o'  the  way. 

There's  a  lass  I'll  maybe  meet  there 
At  home  on  market  day. 


--48-^ 


MOTHER  CAREY 

As  late  I  went  a-walking,  a-walking  by  the  sea, 
I  thought  I  heard  men  talking,  I  heard  them  call  to 

me: 
"Oh,   sorrow   take   the   city   streets   and   the  weary 

city  stones, 
It's  time  for  you  to  leave  them  while  the  strength  is 

in  your  bones." 

Ah,  shake  and  wake  her,  Johnnie,  there's  the  ship 

for  you, 
Lying  in  the  Royal  Roads  waiting  for  the  crew, 
And  every  brace  and  backstay  is  singing  soft  and 

low, 
"Mother  Carey  wants  you  and  you're  all  bound  to 

go!" 

As  late  I  went  a-strolHng,  a-strolling  by  the  shore, 
And  thought  of  ports  I'd  like  to  see  I  haven't  seen 

before. 
Across  the  Strait  the  lighthouse  kept  winking  fine 

and  free 
To  show  me  where  the  road  is  that  leads  to  open  sea. 

—49— 


SAILOR  T0V7N 


Ah,  shake  and  wake  her,  Johnnie,  yonder  where  she 

rides. 
Lying  in  the  Royal  Roads  swinging  with  the  tides, 
Singing  with  the  muttering  tides  that  past  her  cables 

flow, 
"Mother  Carey  wants  you  and  you're  all  bound  to 

go!" 

As  late  I  went  a-walking,  a-walking  by  the  tide, 
I  thought  my  love  was  with  me  and  walking  at  my 

side; 
So  kind  she  did  reproach  me,  so  sweet  her  eyes  did 

shine. 
Yet  could  not  hold  beside  her  this  restless  heart  of 

mine. 

"Ah,  shake  and  wake  her,  Johnnie!"   .    .    .   don't 

you  hear  them  calling 
Out  across  the  I^oyal  Roads  and  the  dusk  a-f ailing! 
Time  and  time  for  me  to  leave  you  though  I  love 

you  so; 
Mother  Carey  wants  us  and  we're  all  bound  to  go  I 

All  bound  to  go,  Johnnie,  all  bound  to  go, 
If  it's  late  or  early,  lad,  if  you  will  or  no. 
Sure  as  sun  will  rise,  Johnnie,  sure  as  tides  do  flow, 
When  Mother  Carey  wants  us  we're  all  bound  to 
go! 


THE  SHIP'S  GOOD-BYE 

I  LEANED  on  the  taffrail,  I  saw  the  day  dying 
Like  a  flock  of  gay  birds  round  the  royal  yards 

flying; 
High  over  the  sunset  I  saw  the  young  moon, 
And  the  wind  and  the  tide  they  were  singing  one 

tune. 

"A  hundred  and  fifty  days  out  from  Vancouver 
(Don't  you  hear  'em  all  singing  it  over  and  over?) 
A  hundred  and  fifty  days  longer  to  roam 
(Or  less  if  you're  lucky)  to  England  and  home!" 

The  ship  took  it  up  as  she  tugged  at  her  tether, 
Brace,  footrope,  and  halliard  all  whistling  together. 
And  so  did  the  seagulls  which  round  her  did  call — 
But  oh,  my  heart  sang  it  the  strongest  of  all! 

There  be  many  good  songs  we  have  knocked  round 

the  world  to. 
Manned  capstan  and  halliard,  reefed,  shifted  and 

furled  to, 

—51— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


All  round  the  oceans,  since  first  we  did  roll 

By  the  Straits  of  Le  Mair  for  Coquimbo  with  coal. 

All  round  the  world,  lad,  to  ports  without  number, 
Chile  for  nitrates,  the  F'raser  for  lumber, 
Where  charters  might  ofFer  or  cargoes  might  call, — • 
But  the  homeward-bound  chantey's  the  best  of  them 

an. 

"A  hundred  and  fifty  days  out  from  Vancouver 
Brings  the  ship  to  the  land  and  the  lad  to  his  lover, 
A  hundred  and  fifty  days  longer  to  roam 
(Or  less  if  you're  lucky)  to  England  and  homel'* 


—52— 


"LET  HER  GO  !" :  A  TRAMP  CHANTY 

'Ee  keel  was  laid  in  'seventy-four 

(Let  'er  go — let  'er  go!) 
They  built  'er  cheap,  an'  they  scamped  'er  sore, 
'Er  rivets  was  putty,  'er  plates  was  poor. 
An'  then  come  in  the  Plimsoll  line, 
Or  I  wouldn't  be  singin'  this  song  o'  mine 
(Let  'er  go!) 

She  was  cranky  an'  foul,  she  was  stubborn  an'  slow 

(Let  'er  go — let  'er  go!) 
An'  she  shipped  it  green  when  it  come  on  to  blow ; 
'Er  crews  was  starved,  an'  the  pay  was  low, 
An'  'er  bloomin'  owners  was  ready  to  faint 
At  a  scrape  o'  pitch  or  a  penn'orth  o'  paint 
(Let  'er  go !) 


But  she's  been  'ere,  an'  she's  been  there 

(Let  'er  go — let  'er  go!) 
An'  she's  been  almost  everywhere; 
An'  wherever  you  went  you'd  sure  see  '^r, 

—53— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


With  'er  rust-red  hawse  an'  'er  battered  old  funnel, 
All  muck  an'  dirt  from  'er  keel  to  'er  gun'le 
(Let  'er  go !) 

She's  earned  'er  keep  in  a  number  o'  climes 

(Let  'er  go — let  'er  go!) 
She's  changed  'er  name  a  number  o'  times 
Which  won't  fit  right  into  these  'ere  rhymes; 
But  the  name  of  'er  now  is  the  "Sound  o'  Mull" — 
Built  on  the  Tyne  an'  sails  out  of  'Ull — 
(Let  'er  go!) 

'Er  keel  was  laid  in  'seventy-four 

(Let  'er  go — ^let  'er  go!) 
An'  a  breaker's  price  was  'er  price  before 
The  ships  was  scarce  an'  the  freights  did  soar; 
But  she's  fetched  'er  fourteen  pound  a  ton 
On  the  Baltic  Exchange  since  the  war  begun 
(Let  'er  go !) 

So  she's  doin'  'er  bit,  which  we  all  must  do 

(Let  'er  go — let  'er  go!) 
An'  whether  she's  old  or  whether  she's  new 
Don't  make  much  odds  to  a  war-time  crew ; 
An'  'oever's  sunk,  or  'oever's  drowned. 
The  "Sound  o'  Mull"  keeps  plugging  around 
(Let  'er  go!) 
—54— 


"LET  HER  GO!":  A  TRAMP  CHANTY 

An'  when  she  goes,  by  night  or  by  day, 

(Let  'er  go — let  'er  go!) 
Either  up  or  down,  as  she  likely  may, 
I  only  'ope  as  somebody'll  say: 
"  'Er  keel  was  laid  in  'seventy-four, 
She  done  'er  best,  and  she  couldn't  do  more; 
She  warn't  no  swell,  an'  she  wam't  no  beauty, 
But  she  come  by  'er  end  in  the  way  of  'er  duty 
(Let  'ergo!)" 


—55- 


HASTINGS  MILL 

As  I  went  down  by  Hastings  Mill  I  lingered  in  my 

going 
To  smeU  the  smell  of  piled-up  deals   and  feel  the 

salt   wind  blowing, 
To  hear  the  cables  fret  and  creak  and  the  ropes  stir 

and   sigh 
(Shipmate,  my  shipmate!)    as  in  days  gone  by. 

As  I  went  down  by  Hastings  Mill  I  saw  a  ship  there 

lying? 
About  her  tawny  yards  the  little  clouds  of  sunset 

flying; 
And  half  I  took  her  for  the  ghost  of  one  I  used  to 

know 
(Shipmate,  my  shipmate!)  many  years  ago. 

As  I  went  down  by  Hastings  Mill  I  saw  while  I  stood 

dreaming 
The  flicker  of  her  riding  light   along  the   ripples 

streaming, 
—56— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


The  bollards  where  we  made  her  fast  and  the  berth 

where  she  did  lie 
(Shipmate,  my  shipmate!)  in  the  days  gone  by. 

As  I  went  down  by  Hastings  Mill  I  heard  a  fellow 

singing, 
Chipping    off    the    deep-sea    rust    above    the    tide 

a-swinging. 
And  well  I  knew  the  queer  old  tune  and  well  the 

song  he  sung 
(Shipmate,    my    shipmate!)    when    the    world    was 

young. 

And  past  the  rowdy  Union  Wharf,  and  by  the  still 

tide  sleeping. 
To  a  randy  dandy  deep-sea  tune  my  heart  in  time  was 

keeping. 
To  the  thin  far  sound  of  a  shadowy  watch  a-hauling, 
And  the  voice  of  one  I  knew  across  the  high  tide 

calling 
(Shipmate,  my  shipmate!)  and  the  late  dusk  falling. 


-^57— 


DEAD  MAN'S  BAY 

I  THOUGHT  I  heard  the  old  man  say 

(Leave  her,  Johnnie,  leave  her!) 
"Her  course  is  set  for  Dead  Man's  Bay 

(And  it's  time  for  us  to  leave  her!) 
Dead  Man's  Bay,  where  old  ships  lie 

(Leave  her,  Johnnie,  leave  her!) 
When  deep-sea  days  are  all  gone  by 

(And  it's  time  for  us  to  leave  her!)'* 

Time  for  us  to  leave  her,  Johnnie,  time  to  go ! 
The  same  seas  '11  toss  us,  the  same  winds  blow: 
We'll  have  our  fun  and  folly,  dreaming  and  desire, 
And  she  gone  to  ashes  on  a  landward  fire. 

Ah,    the    grand    old    days,    Johnnie! — wind    and 
weather. 

Days    of    sun    and   nights    of    storm   we   knew   to- 
gether,— 

The  game  we  played  with  old  Cape  Stiff,  and  our 
lives  the  stake   .     .    . 

Turn   and   say   good-bye,   Johnnie,   for  old   sake's 
sake! 
—^8— 


DEAD  MAN'S  BAY 


Long  and  long  after,  far  and  far  ?way, 
Maybe  you'll  remember,  maybe  then  you'll  say. 
When  you  hear  an  old  name  spoken  or  an  old  song 

sung: 
"Ay,  once  we  sailed  in  her,  when  she  and  we  were 

young." 

Old  men  nodding  by  a  hearth  ashore   .    .    . 

Old  ships  decaying  that  use  the  sea  no  more   .    .   ;. 

That's   the  way  it   goes,   Johnnie,   since  the  world 

begun. 
And  it's  time  for  us  to  leave  her,  for  her  day  is  done ! 

And  to  Dead  Man's  Bay  she's  bound  at  last 

(Leave   her,   Johnnie,  leave  her!) 
Where  storm  and  shine  alike  are  past 

(And  it's  time  for  us  to  leave  her!) 
No  more  labour,  no  more  laughter, 

(Leave  her,  Johnnie,  leave  her!) 
One  more  watch  and  a  long  sleep  after 

(And  it's  time  for  us  to  leave  her!) 


—59— 


THE  GREEN  THICKET 

Ai.ii  in  a  green  thicket  I  heard  a  bird  sing, 

And  blithe  though  his  song  was  it  made  the  tears 

spring, 
To  hear  the  bird  sing  as  he  swung  on  his  spray, 
All  in  a  green  thicket  at  break  of  the  day. 

All  in  a  green  thicket  his  song  he  did  pour 
That  told  of  the  Springs  that  shall  come  nevermore, 
That  sang  of  sweet  blossoms,  now  faded  and  dry. 
All  in  a  green  thicket  in  Aprils  gone  by. 

All  m  a  green  thicket  that  morning  in  Spring, 
I  smelt  the  sharp  scent  of  each  young  growing  thing, 
I  smelt  the  sweet  herbage  all  drowned  with  the  dew. 
And  the  time  that's  gone  from  me  was  with  me  anew. 

All  in  a  green  thicket  at  break  of  the  day 
It  was  like  the  dear  voice  of  a  friend  far  away, 
It  was  like  the  kind  touch  of  a  hand  that  I  know. 
And  the  smiles  and  the  tears  of  dead  Aprils  ago. 
—60— 


THE  GREEN  THICKET 


All  in  a  green  thicket  one  morning  of  Spring, 
For  to  smell  the  young  woodland  and  hear  the  bird 

sing, 
Oh,  long  did  I  loiter  and  dream  by  the  way, 
All  in  a  green  thicket  at  break  of  the  day. 


--61— 


Ik  DECLARATION  OF  WAR 

This  is  the  yam  that  M'Larty  told  by  the  brazier 

fire, 
Where  over  the  mud-filled  trenches  the  star-shells 

blaze  and  expire — 
A  yarn  he  swore  was  a  true  one;  but  Mac  was  an 

awful  liar. 


"  'Way  up  in  the  wild  North  country,  a  couple  of 

years  ago, 
I  hauled  Hank  out  of  a  snowdrift — it  was  maybe 

thirty  'below' — 
And  I  packed  him  home  to  my  shanty,  and  I  took 

and  thawed  him  with  snow. 


**He  was  stiff  as  a  cold-store  bullock,  I  might  have 

left  him  for  dead, 
But  I  packed  him  along,  as  I've  told  you,  and  melted 

him  out  instead. 
And  I  rolled  him  up  in  my  blankets  and  put  him  to 

sleep  in  my  bed. 
—62— 


A  DECLARATION  OF  WAR 


"So  he  dwelt  in  my  humble  shanty  while  the  wintry 

gales  did  roar, 
While  the  blizzards  howled  in  the  passes   and  the 

timber  wolves  at  the  door, 
And   he   slept   in   m^^   bunk   at   night-time   while  I 

stretched  out  on  the  floor. 

"He  watched  me  frying  my  bacon,  and  he  said  that 

the  smell  was  grand, 
He  watched  me  bucking  the  stove-wood,  but  he  never 

lent  me  a  hand, 
And  he  played  on  my   concertina  the  airs   of  his 

native  land. 

"And  one  month  grew  into  two  months,  and  two 
months  grew  into  three; 

And  there  he  was  sitting  and  smiling  like  a  bloom- 
ing Old  Man  of  the  Sea, 

Eating  my  pork  and  beans  up,  and  necking  my 
whiskey  and  tea. 

**You  say,  'Why  didn't  I  shift  him'?— Fbr  the  life 

of  me  I  dunno, 
I  suppose  there's  something  inside  me  that  can't  tell 

a  fellow  to  go 
I  hauled  by  the  heels  from  a  snowdrift  at  maybe 

thirty  'below.' 

—63— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


"But  at  last  when  the  snows  were  going,  and  the 

blue  spring  skies  were  pale, 
Out  after  bear  in  the  valley,  I  met  a  chap  on  the 

trail, 
A  chap  coming  up  from  the  city,  who  stopped  and 

told  me  a  tale. 

"A  tale  of  murders  and  hold-ups  all  over  the  land 

and  sea. 
And  when  he  was  through  I  was  laughing,  for  the 

joke  of  it  seemed  to  be 
Hank's  folks  had  been  acting  that  way  while  Hank 

was  rooming  with  me. 

"So  off  I  hiked  to  the  shanty,  and  never  a  word  I 

said, 
I  floated  in  like  a  cyclone,  I  yanked  him  out  of  my 

bed. 
And  I  grabbed  the  concertina  and  I  smashed  it  over 

his  head. 

"I  shook  him  up  for  a  minute,  I  stood  him  down  on 
the  floor, 

I  grabbed  the  scruff^  of  his  trousers  and  I  ran  him 
along  to  the  door. 

And  I  said,  *This  here,  if  you  get  me,  is  a  Decla- 
ration of  War!' 
—64— 


A  DECLARATION  OF  WAR 


"And  I  gave  him  a  hoist  with  my  gum-boot,  a  kind 

of  a  lift  with  my  toe, 
But  you  can't  give  a  fellow  a  hiding,  as  any  one 

sure  must   know, 
You  hauled  by  the  heels  from  a  snowdrift  at  maybe 

thirty  *below."' 


—65— 


THE  PRAIRIE  SHEPHERD 

(Baa,  baa,  black  sheep! — whose  fault  but  your  own 
That  you're  here  on  the  western  prairie,  herding  the 

sheep  alone, — 
Here  in  a  wide  and  lonely  land,  by  the  stranger's 

fold,— 
Oh,  rise  and  go  to  your  father;  he's  growing  weary 

and  old.) 

«  «  «  «  # 

Poets  talk  about  shepherds,  and  the  wonderful  tiines 

thej^'ve  got 
Playing  tunes  to  Amaryllis,  and  all  such  rot ! 
And  it  might  be  better  than  nothing  for  passing  the 

time  away 
If  you'd  got  a  girl  to  talk  to,  or  a  penny  whistle  to 

play. 

I  was  a  fool  and  I'm  paying — ^I'm  on  a  job  that 

would  beat 
The  other  prodigal  hollow,  with  the  husks  that  the 

swine  did  eat, 
—66— 


THE  PRAIRIE  SHEPHERD 


Wouldn't  I  think  I  was  lucky  if  I'd  plenty  of  pigs 

to  keep ! 
They're  sociable  sort  of  creatures — if  you've  ever 

lived  among  sheep. 

All  the  way  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  nothing  to 

see.    .    .    . 
Bare  and  bald  and  droughty  and  dusty,  and  never 

a  tree! 
Never  a  voice  to  hail  you,  only  a  hawk's  lone  cry 
Hanging  there  aloft  like  a  speck  in  the  aching  sky. 

Only  the  dry  grass  stirring,  only  the  weary  wind 
Seeming  to  sigh  for  the  people  and  places  you  left 

behind : 
And  I  wonder  how  long  I'll  stand  it  before  I'm  crazy 

and  grey. 
With  the  sheep  bleating,  bleating  aU  the  night  and 

the  day. 

God!  will  they  always  be  at  it  in  that  everlasting 

old  tone. 
Telling  me  over  and  over  the  things  I  have  loved  and 

known. 
Keeping  my  heart  from  forgetting,  no  matter  how 

hard  I  try, 
The  various  kinds  of  a  fool  I  was  in  the  years  gone 

by.  .   .    . 

—67— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


(Baa,  baa,  black  sheep!   ...   no  one's  fault  but 

your  own 
That  you're  here  on  the  western  prairie,  herding 

your  sheep  alone, — 
No  one  but  God  around  to  see  you,  and  pity  your 

tears 
For  the  things  you  wish  you  could  alter,  back  there 

in  the  bygone  years.) 


—68— 


TRAVELLER'S  REST 

When  you  are  tired  of  the  long  road  and  the  open 

sky, 
I  wish  it  may  be  my  door  that  you're  passing  by : 
I  wish  it  may  be  my  hearth  where  you  will  sit  down 
And  tell  your  tales  of  the  land  and  sea  and  the 

strange  far  town. 

Oh,  come  you  in  from  eastward  or  come  you  from 

the  west, 
Here's  good  cheer  to  greet  you  and  welcome  of  the 

best: 
Oh  come  you  with  your  pockets  full  or  come  you 

home  poor. 
Here's  a  place  by  the  fireside  and  an  open  door. 

You'll  tell  me  where  you  were  since,  and  the  things 

you've  seen 
Up  and  down  the  wide  world  where  so  long  you've 

been, — 
All  the  tkne  that  I've  been  here  and  you  far  away, — 
And  then  awhile  be  silent,  as  good  friends  may. 

—69— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


And  then  awhile  listen  to  the  wind  and  rain, 
Moaning    in    the    chimney-breast,    beating    at    the 

pane, — 
Dark  and  cold  outside  there,  and  the  stormy  skies, 
And  you  sitting  down  here  with  the  firelight  in  your 

eyes. 


—70— 


SHIPMATE  SORROW 

I  WAS  shipmate  with  Sorrow  in  a  day  gone  by; 
We  shared  wheel  and  look-out,  old  Sorrow  and  I; 
Good  times  and  bad  times,  foul  weather  and  fair, 
The  old  grey  face  of  him  was  always  there. 

There  wa«  never  chanty  raised  there,  never  song  I 

heard. 
But  his  voice  would  be  in  it  like  a  crying  bird ; 
I  was  dull  in  the  dog  watches,  when  the  laugh  went 

free. 
Because  of  old  Sorrow  sitting  down  by  me. 

I  thought  I  could  lose  him  in  the  stir  and  change 
Of  bright,  wicked  cities,  all  sunlit  and  strange ; 
There  came  a  hand  at  my  elbow  and  a  voice  in  my 

ear — 
It  was  old  patient  Sorrow  saying:  "Lad,  I'm  here!" 

And  by  the  bustling  harbour,  up  the  busy  street. 
Many  a  time  I  see  him,  many  a  time  I  meet 
The  old  grey  face  there  of  one  I  used  to  know — 
And  it's  old  shipmate  Sorrow  out  of  long  ago. 

—71— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


And  the  watch  at  the  halliards  they  may  sing  with 

a  will, 
But  the  voice  I  used  to  hear — oh,  I  sometimes  hear 

it   still. 
Like  a  wind  in  a  shroud  piping,  or  a  seabird's  cry — 
And  it's  old  Sorrow  singing  out  of  times  gone  by! 


-72— 


THE  RHYME   OF   THE   "INISFAIL" 

LiMEHOUSE  way,  the  other  day,  as  I  did  chance  to 

be, 
I  met  with  a  hairy  sailorman,  was   shipmate  once 

with  me, 
With  his   short  black  pipe  between  his  teeth,  and 

his  tarry  dungaree. 


I  gripped  him  by  the  elbow  then ;  he  swung  upon  his 
heel 

(And  oh,  that  deep-sea  speech  to  hear,  that  rope- 
hard  hand  to  feel. 

It  brought  me  back  the  younger  years,  the  look-out 
and  the  wheel! 


The  way  of  a  ship  in  the  great  waters  where  the 

flying-fishes   are, 
A  creaking  block,  and  the  reef-points  tapping,  and 

a  far   Southern   star. 
And  the  smell  of  nitrates,  and  new  lumber,  and  paint 

and  Stockholm  tar). 

—73— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


And  "What's  the  news  now  up   and  down?"   and 

"Where's  your  ship?"  I  cried, 
"Greenland  Basin  or  Martin's  Wharf?"     He  turned 

and  spat  aside. 
"She's  dockin'  far  from  here  this  night  on  a  late, 

long  tide. 

"An'  I  came  home  in  steam,"  he  said,  "I  never 
thought  to  do, 

In  a  sooty,  smeary  cargo-tank,  with  a  greasy  steam- 
boat crew; 

An'  if  you'd  know  the  why  of  it  I'll  tell  ye  plain  an' 
true. 

"I  sailed  last  June  from  Carrizal — no  call  to  tell 

the  tale 
Of  every  bit  of  a  blow  we  had  an'  every  Cape  Horn 

gale— 
In  an  old-time  Clyde-built  packet  that  was  named 

the  InisfaU, 

**One  o'  them  ships  with  painted  ports  that  Gow  of 

Glasgow  had 
In  the  great  old  days  of  the  wool-clippers  when  I 

was  but  a  lad; 
An'  she  was  one  o'  the  best  o'  them ;  their  worst  was 

never  bad. 
—74— 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  "INISFAIL' 


"All  fuU-rigged  ships  in  them  days  too,  I've  heard 

old  shellbacks  say; 
The  Inisfail  was  near  the  last,  an'  she  had  had  her 

day 
When  they  cut  the  half  of  her  sail-plan  down  and 

her  mizzen  yards  away." 

"Why,  well  I  knew  the  Inisfail"  I  said,  "and  weU 

should   know ; 
She  lay  with  us  in  Taltal  once,  and  once  in  Callao, 
The  time  I  sailed  in  the  nitrate  trade,  a  sight  o' 

years  ago. 

"A  woman  with  a  harp  she  had  by  way  of  figure- 
head. 

And  shamrocks  all  about  her  dress  like  golden  stars 
were  spread; 

A  bonnier  thing  was  never  carved."  "That's  her," 
Mike  sighed  and  said. 

"Ay,  well,   she's   gone,  the  Inisfail;   her  split  an' 

broken  huU, 
It  does  not  lie  by  the  Seven  Stones,  the  Brisons  nor 

the  Gull, 
Where  many  a  bumpin'  cargo  lies  an'  many  a  dead 

man's  skull. 

—75— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


"But  fifty  miles  from  Fastnet  Light,  in  the  wide 
and  open  sea, 

Where  the  seagulls  meet  the  homeward  bound,  close- 
hauled  or  running  free. 

It's  there  I  left  the  Inisfail  in  the  place  where  she 
left  me. 

^  ^  *  ¥^  * 

"A  shadow  like  a  shark,  I  saw  the  damned  torpedo 

glide; 
Like   a   sunken   reef  it  jarred  her   ribs,  it   rippe<l 

her  loaded  side 
As  the  killer  rips  the  mother-whale  in  the  red  Beh- 

ring  tide. 

"We  did  not  need  the  soundin'-rod  to  try  the  depth 

below ; 
By  the  feel  of  her  beneath  our  feet  we  could  not 

help  but  know 
She'd  never  fetch  a  port  no  more,  an'  'twas  time 

for  us  to  go. 

"So  we  cast  the  long-boat's  lashin's  loose,  we  hove 
it  over  the  rail 

(An'  we  blessed  our  luck,  as  we  tumbled  in,  it  wasn't 
blowin'   a   gale), 

An'  we  stood  off  an'  on,  to  see  the  last  of  the  Inis- 
fail. 
—76— 


THE  RHYME  OF  THE  "INISFAIL' 


"We  had  not  got  the  sail  off  her ;  with  all  her  cloths 

agleam 
She  looked  as  lovely  as   a  bird,  as  peaceful  as   a 

dream, 
As  she  lay  with  her  mainyard  aback  an'  liftin*  on 

the  stream. 

"We  could   see  the  smoke  from  the  galley-fire,   in 

little  puffs   that  blew, 
An'  the  brasswork  winkin'  in  the  sun  an'  the  gilt 

vane  flashin'  too, 
An'  the  shark's  tail  at  her  bowsprit  end,  an'  a  score 

o'   things   we   knew. 

"We  sat  an'  watched  for  the  end  of  her — we  hardly 

spoke  or  stirred ; 
'She'll  maybe  float,'  said  some  one  then.     He  scarce 

had  shaped  the  word 
When  she  shivered  an'  lurched  like  a  meltin'  berg 

and   dived   like   a   wounded   bird. 

"An'  she'll  never  know  the  stars   an'  the  wind  no 

more,  the  sun  an'  the  blue, 
Never  the  kiss  of  the  Trade  again,  never  the  sound 

o'  the  crew 
An'  they  chantyin'  up  the  anchor  in  one  o'  them 

ports  she  knew. 

—77— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


An'  no  one  '11  ever  be  cold  or  hungry,  battered  or 

sore, 
Or  do  a  job  of  work  aboard  of  'er  any  more, 
Or  lift  a  stave   at  the  halliards  the  same  as  they 

used  before. 

*'No  one  'U  doze  in  the  black  shadows  when  the 

moon's  yellow  as   com, 
Or  sing  songs  in  the  dog  watches,  or  wish  he  was 

never  bom, 
Fistin'  them  big  courses  of  hers  down  there  off  the 

pitch  o'  the  Horn. 

"Nor  they  won't  sell  her  or  scrap  her  now  when 

workin'  days   are  done; 
She  won't  rust  in  the  breaker's  yard  nor  lie  an'  rot 

in  the  sun 
Like  an  old  broken  sailorman  whose  yarn's  nearly 

spun.  y^ 

"For  she  lies  deep,  the  Inisfail — ay,  deep  she  Kes 

an'   drowned. 
Farther  'n  ever  a  wave  will  stir  an'  deeper  'n  lead 

can  sound — 
Fifty    mile    from    Fastnet    Light    an'    homeward 

bound   ..." 

—-78— 


II:  THE  NAVAL  CROWN 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  "EASTERN 
CROWN" 

I've  sailed  in  'ookers  plenty  since  first  I  went  to 

sea — 
An'  sail  or  steam,  an'  good  or  bad,  was  all  alike  to 

me; 
There's  some  'ave  tried  to  starve  me,  an'  some  'ave 

tried  to  drown — 
But  I  never  met  the  equal  o'  the  "Eastern  Crown." 

'Er  funnel's  like  a  chimley,  'er  sides  is  like  a  tub. 
An'    pay    is    middlin'    scanty,    an'    likewise    so    is 

grub; 
She's  'ard  to  beat  for  steerin'  bad,  she's  'ard  to  beat 

for  grime, 
An'  rollin'  is  'er  'obby — oh,  she's  rollin'  all  the  time ! 

Rollin'  down  to  Singapore — rollin'  up  to  Maine — 
Rollin'    round    to    Puget    Sound,    and    then    'ome 

again ! 
A  long  roll,  an'  a  short  roll,  an'  a  roll  in  between, 
An'  the  crew  cursin'  rosy  when  she  ships  it  green! 

—81— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


We  sailed  for  Philadelphia,  New  York  an'  Montreal, 
Dischargin'  general  cargo  at  our  various  ports  o' 

call; 
We  knocked  about  a  year  or  so  'tween  Callao  an' 

Nome, 
An'  then  to  Portland,  Oregon,  to  load  with  deals  for 


She's  met  with  accidents  a  few  (which  is  her  usual 
way); 

She  scraped  the  bowsprit  off  a  barque  in  San  Fran- 
cisco Bay ; 

She's  shed  propeller  blades  an'  plates  wherever  she 
'as  been   .    .    . 

An'  last  she's  fouled  'er  bloomin'  screw  on  a  Ger- 
man submarine! 

Rollin'  in  the  sunshine — rollin'  in  the  rain — 
RoUin'  up  the  Channel — an'  we're  'ome  again! 
A  long  roll,  an'  a  short  roll,  an'  a  roll  in  between. 
An'  the  crew  cursin'  rosy  when  she  ships  it  green! 

As  on  the  'igh  an'  draughty  bridge  I  stood  my  wheel 

one  day, 
"If  we  should  sight  a  submarine"  (I  'eard  the  old 

man  say) 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  "EASTERN  CROWN" 

"I'd  do   as  Admirals   retired   an'  other  folks   'ave 

said, 
I'd  run  the  old  Red  Duster  up  an'  ring  'Full  speed 

ahead' ; 

"I'd  sink  before  I'd  'eave  'er  to  or  'aul  my  colours 

down; 
By  Gosh,  they'll  catch  a  Tartar  if  they  catch  the 

'Eastern  Crown'! 
I've  thought  it  out  both  'igh  an'  low,  an'  this  seems 

best  to  me — 
Pursoo  a  zig-zag  course"  ('e  says)  "an'  see  what  I 

shall  see!" 

Rollin'  through  the  Doldrums — rollin'  in  the  foam — 
Rollin'  by  the  Fastnet — an'  we're  nearly  'ome : 
A  long  roll,  an'  a  short  roll,  an'  a  roll  in  between. 
An'  the  crew  cursin'  rosy  when  she  ships  it  green! 

'E  said  it,  an'  'e  meant  it,  an'  'e  acted  as  he  said 
When  sure  enough  we  sighted  one  abeam  o'  Lizard 

'Ead; 
You    should    'ave    'eard    the    engines    grunt — you 

should  'ave  seen  'er  roll! 
She  was  beatin'  all  'er  records  as  they  shovelled  on 

the  coal! 

—83— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


They   missed   us   by   a   spittin'   length — 'er  rollin' 

served  'er  well, 
But  it  served  'er  better  after,  as  you're  goin'  to  'ear 

me  tell; 
For  she  some'ow  rolled  'erself  atop  o'  the  bloomin' 

submarine   .    .    . 
An'  the  oil  upon  the  waters  was  the  last  of  it  we 

seen. 

Rollin'  up  to  London  Town  (an'  down  by  the  bow) ; 
Rollin'  'ome  to  Surrey  Docks — ain't  we  'eroes  now! 
A  long  roll,  an'  a.  short  roll,  an'  a  roll  in  between, 
An'  the  crew  cursin'  rosy  as  she  ships  it  green! 


84— 


BRITISH  MERCHANT  SERVICE,  1915 

Oh,  down  by  Millwall  Basin  as  I  went  the  other  day, 
I  met  a  skipper  that  I  knew,  and  to  him  I  did  say : 
"Now  what's  the  cargo,  captain,  that  brings  you 
up  this   way?" 

"Oh,  I've  been  up  and  down  (he  said)   and  round 

about  also    .    .    . 
From    Sydney    to    the    Skager-rack,    and    Kiel    to 

Callao    .    .    . 
With    a   leaking   steam-pipe    all   the   way   to    Cali- 

fom-i-o.    .    .    . 

"With  pots  and  pans  and  ivory  fans  and  every  kind 

of  thing. 
Rails  and  nails   and  cotton  bales  and  sewer-pipes 

and  string — 
But  now  I'm  through  with  cargoes,  and  I'm  here  to 

serve  the  King! 

"And  if  it's  sweeping  mines    (to  which  my  fancy 
somewhat  leans) 

—85— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Or  hanging  out  with  booby  traps  for  the  skulking 
submarines    .    .    . 

I'm  here  to  do  my  blooming  best  and  give  the  beg- 
gars beans ! 

"A  rough  job  and  a  tough  job  is  the  best  job  for 

me, 
And  what  or  where  I  don't  much  care,  I'll  take  what 

it  may  be, 
For  a  tight  place  is  the  right  place  when  it's  foul 

weather  at  sea!" 


There's  not  a  port  he  doesn't  know  from  Melbourne 

to  New  York; 
He's  as  hard  as  a  lump  of  harness-beef  and  as  salt 

as  pickled  pork; 
And   .    .    .   he'll  stand  by  a  wreck  in  a  murdering 

gale,  and  count  it  part  of  his  work! 

He's   the  terror  of  the  foc's'le  when  he  heals  its 

various  ills 
With  turpentine  and  mustard  leaves  and  poultices 

and   pills    .    .    . 
But  he  knows  the  sea  like  the  palm  of  his  hand,  as 

a   shepherd  knows   the   hills. 
—86— 


BRITISH  MERCHANT  SERVICE,  1915 

He'll  spin  you  yarns  from  dawn  to  dark   .    .    .and 

half  of  'em  are  true ! 
He  swears  in  a  score  of  languages,  and  maybe  talks 

in  two!   .    .    . 
And  he'll  lower  a  boat  in  a  hurricane  to  save  a 

drowning  crew! 

A  rough  job  or  a  tough  job — ^he's  handled  two  or 

three, 
And  what  or  where  he  won't  much  care,  nor  ask  what 

the  risk  may  be    .    .    , 
For  a  tight  place  is  the  right  place  when  there's  wild 

weatlier  at  sea! 


— 8T- 


THE  YOUNGER  SON 

The  Younger  Son  he's   earned  his  bread  in  ways 

both  hard  and  easy 
From    Parramatta    to   the   Pole,    from   Yukon   to 

Zambesi ; 
Fbr  young  blood  is  roving  blood,  and  a  far  road's 

best, 
And  when  you're  tired  of  roving  there'll  be  time 

enough  to   rest! 

And  it's  "Hello"  and  *'How  d'ye  do?"  "How's  the 

world  been  using  you? 
Thought    you    were    in    Turkestan    or    China    or 

Peru!"— 
It's    a   long  trail  in  peace-time   where   the   roving 

Britons  stray   .    .    . 
But  in  war-time,  in  war-time,  it's  just  across  the 

way! 

He's  left  the  broncos  to  be  bust  by  who  in  thunder 

chooses ; 
He's  left  the  pots  to  wash  themselves  in  Canada's 

cabooses ; 
—88— 


THE  YOUNGER  SON 


He's  left  the  mine  and  logging  camp,  the  peavie, 

pick  and  plough, 
For  young  blood  is   fighting  blood,   and  England 

needs  him  now! 

And  it's  "HeUo"  and  "How  d'ye  do?"  "Who'd  ha' 

thought  of  meeting  you ! 
What's  the  news  of  Calgary,  Quebec  and  Cariboo?" 
It's    a   long   trail   in   peace-time   where   the    roving 

Britons   stray, 
But  in  war-time,  in  war-time,  it's  just  across  the 

way! 

He's  travelled  far  by  many   a  trail,  he's   rambled 

here  and  yonder. 
No  road  too  rough  for  him  to  tread,  no  land  too 

wide  to  wander; 
For  young  blood  is   roving  blood,   and  the   spring 

of  life  is  best. 
And  when  all  the  fighting's  done,  lad,  there's  time 

enough  to  rest. 

And  it's   good-bye,   tried   and   true,   here's   a  long* 

farewell  to  you 
(Rolling  stone  from  Mexico,  Shanghai  or  Timbuc- 

too)! 

—89— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Young  blood  is  roving  blood,  but  the  last  sleep  is 

best. 
When  the  fighting  all  is  done,  lad,  and  it*s  time  to 

rest! 


—90-- 


THE  NORTH  SEA  GROUND 

Oh,  Grimsby  is  a  pleasant  town  as  any  man  may 

find, 
An'  Grimsby  wives  are  thrifty  wives,  an'  Grimsby 

girls  are  kind; 
An'  Grimsby  lads  have  never  yet  been  lads  to  lag 
behind 

When  there's  men's  work  doin'  on  the  North 
Sea  ground. 

An'  it's  "Wake  up,  Johnnie"   .    .    .   for  the  high 

tide's   flowin'. 
An'  off  the  misty  waters  a  cold  wind  blowin' ; 
Skipper's  come  aboard,  an'  it's  time  that  we  were 
goin'. 

An'   there's   fine  fish  waitin'   on   the  North 
Sea  ground! 

Soles  in  the  Silver  Pit  .    .    .   an'  there  we'll  let  'em 

lie! 
Cod  on  the  Dogger  .    .    .   oh,  we'll  fetch  'em  by  an' 

by! 

—91— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


War  on  the  waters    .    .    .    an'  it's  time  to  serve  an' 
die, 

For  there's  wild  work  doin'  on  the  North  Sea 
ground. 

An'  it's  "Wake  up,  Johnnie"   .    .    .    they  want  you 

at  the  trawlin' 
(With  your  long  sea-boots  an'  your  tarry  old  tar- 
paulin) ; 
All  across  the  bitter  seas  duty  comes  a-callin'. 

In  the  winter's  weather  off  the  North  Sea 
ground. 

It's  well  we've  learned  to  laugh  at  fear  (the  sea  has 

taught  us  how)  ; 
It's  well  we've  shaken  hands  with  death — we'll  not  be 

strangers    now. 
With    death    in    every    climbin'    wave    before    the 
trawler's  bow, 

An'  the  black  spawn  swimmin'  on  the  North 
Sea  ground. 

Good  luck  to  all  our  fightin'  ships  that  rule  the  Eng- 
lish sea; 

Good  luck  to  our  brave  merchantmen  wherever  they 
may  be; 
—92— 


THS  NOBTH  SEA  GROUND 


The  Sea  it  is  their  highway,  and  we've  got  to  sweep 
it  free 

For  the  ships  passing  over  on  the  North  Sea 
ground. 

An'   it's    "Wake   up,   Johnnie"   .    .    .    for  the   sea 

wind's  cry  in', 
"Time  an'  time  to  go  where  the  herrin'  gulls  are 

flyin'  "— 
An'  down  below  the  stormy  seas  the  dead  men  lyin', 
Oh,  the  dead  lyin'  quiet  on  the  North  Sea 
ground! 


-93— 


ROYAL  NAVAL  RESERVE 

White  Star,  Cunard, 

Great  ships  and  small — 
Gallant  British  merchantmen. 

Here's  to  each  and  all! 
Union  Castle,  Orient, 

From  Shankhai  to  Dover, 
Fighting  British  merchantmen 

All  the  world  over! 

«  «  «  «  II 

What  is  the  house-flag?    .    .    . 

The  same  that's  yours  and  mine — * 
In  fair  weather  and  foul  weather 

The  flag  of  the  British  Line! 

What  trade  is  this  ye  sail  in?  .  .  . 

An  ancient  trade  and  bold; 
Drake's  trade,  Blake's  trade 

It  was  in  days  of  old — 

To  mar  the  might  of  tyrants, 
To  keep  the  highway  free, 
—94— 


ROYAL  NAVAL  RESERVE 


And  hold  against  all  comers 
The  lordship  of  the  sea! 

Whence   comes   your   right   of  service?    .    , 

By  right  of  breed  and  birth ! 
And  where  had  ye  your  schooling?   .     .    . 

In  all  the  seas  of  earth; 

'Tween  the  Lizard  and  Cape  Leeuwin, 
From  the  Fastnet  to  the  Horn, 

We  learnt  the  stem  old  lessons 
None  learn  but  seamen  born. 

What  cargo  do  ye  carry?    .    .    . 

Full  freight  of  death  and  fame, 
And  the  men  of  the  White  Ensign 

Of  the  Red  shall  think  no  shame ! 

When  the  day  is  darkened  with  battle. 
And  the  seas  are  sown  with  the  dead. 

The  pride  of  the  White  Ensign 
Shall  he  the  pride  of  the  Red! 

Honour  and  pride  both  far  and  wide, 

Where'er  the  salt  tides  run, 
And  a  long  sleep,  the  last  sleep. 

For  them  whose  watch  is  done! 

—95- 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Cunard,  White  Star, 

Great  ships  and  small — 
Gallant  British  merchantmen, 

Here's  to  each  and  all! 
Royal  Mail,  P.  and  O., 

Ftom  Shanghai  to  Dover, 
Fighting  British  merchantmen 

All  the  world  over! 


—96— 


THE   "ORION'S"  FIGUREHEAD  AT 
WHITEHALL 

A-Lij  wind  and  rain,  the  clouds  fled  fast  across  the 

evening  sky — 
Whitehall  aglimmer  like  a  beach  the  tide  has  late  left 

dry — 
And  there  I  saw  the  figurehead  which  once  did  grace 

the  bow 
Of  the  old  bold  "Orion"— 

The  fighting  old  "Orion"  in  the  days  that 
are  not  now. 


And  I  wondered  did  he  dream  at  all  of  those  great 

fights  of  old 
And  ships  from  out  whose  oaken  sides  Trafalgar's 

thunder  rolled ; 
There     were     "Ajax,"     "Neptune,"     "Temeraire," 

"Revenge,"  "Leviathan," 
With  the  old  bold  "Orion"— 

The  fighting  old  "Orion"  when  "Victory" 
led  the  van. 

—97— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Old  ships,  their  ribs  are  ashes  now   .    .    .   but  still 

the  names   they  bore 
And  still  the  hearts  that  manned  them  live  to  sail 

the  seas  once  more — 
To  sail  and  fight,  and  watch  and  ward,  and  strike 

as   stout  a  blow 
As  the  old  bold  "Orion," 

The  fighting  old  "Orion"  in  the  wars  of 
long  ago. 

They  watch,  the  grey  and  silent  ships,  like  death  as 

bleak  and  stern; 
They  wait  (not  yet,  not  yet  has  dawned  the  day  for 

which  they  bum) : 
They're  ware  and  waiting  for  the  word  that  sets 

their  thunders  free, 
Like  the  old  bold  "Orion," 

The    fighting    old    "Orion"    when    Nelson 
sailed  the  sea. 

Oh,  waiting  is  a  weary  game — but  Nelson  played  it 

too! 
And  be  it  late  or  be  it  soon,  such  work  is  yet  to  do 
Your  starry  namesake  never  saw  who  walked  the 

midnight  sky 
(Old  bold  "Orion"— 

Fighting  old  "Orion"!)   in  the  great  old 
years  gone  by. 
—98^ 


THE  "ORION'S"  FIGUREHEAD  AT  WHITEHALL 

And  be  the  game  a  waiting  game  we'll  play  it  with 

the  best; 
Or  be  the  game  a  watching  game  we'll  watch  and 

never  rest ; 
But  the  fighting  game  it  pays  for  all  when  the  guns 

begin  to  play 
(Ah,  bold  "Orion"— 

Fighting  old  "Orion"!  as  you  heard  'em 
yesterday!). 


—99— 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRODIGAL 

I  noDE  into  Pincher  River  on  an  August  afternoon — ■ 
The  pinto's  hoofs  on  the  prairie  drumming  a  drowsy 

tune — 
By  the  shacks  and  the  Chinks'  truck-gardens  to  the 

Athabasca  Saloon. 


And  a  bunch  of  the  boys  was  standing  around  by 

the  old  Scotch  Store, 
Standing  and  spitting  and  swearing  by  old  Mac- 

allister's  door, 
And  the  name  on  their  lips  was  Britain — the  word 

that  they  spoke  was  "War"! 


War!   .    .    .   Do  you  think  I  waited  to  talk  about 

wrong  or  right 
When  I  knew  my  own  old  country  was  up  to  the 

neck  in  a  fight? 
I  said  "So  long"— and  I  beat  it— "I'm  hitting  the 

trail  to-night!" 
—100— 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  PRODIGAL 

I  wasn't  long  at  my  packing;  I  hadn't  much  time 

to  dress; 
And  the  cash  I  had  at  disposal  was  a  ten-spot  (more 

or  less), 
So  I  didn't  wait  for  my  ticket — I  booked  by  the 

hoboes'  express. 

I  rode  the  bumpers  at  night-time;  I  beat  the  ties  in 
the  day, 

Stealing  a  ride  and  humming  a  ride  all  of  the  bloom- 
ing way, 

And  ...  I  left  the  First  Contingent  drilling  at 
Valcartier ! 

I  didn't  cross  in  a  liner  (I  hadn't  my  passage  by 

me!) 
I    spotted    a   Liverpool    cargo    tramp,    smelly    and 

greasy  and  grimy, 
And  she  wanted  hands  for  the  voyage,  and  the  old 

man  guessed  he'd  try  me. 

She   kicked   like   a   ballet   dancer   or   a   range-bred 

bronco  mare; 
She   rolled   till  her  engines   rattled — she  wallowed, 

but  what  did  I  care? 
It  was,  "Go  it,  ni}^  bucking  beauty,  if  only  you'll 

take  me  there !" 

—101- 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Then  .    .    .came   an   autumn   morning,   grey-blue, 

windy  and  clear. 
And  the  fields — the  little  white  houses — green,  and 

peaceful,  and  dear — 
And   the  heart   inside    o'   me   saying:    "Take   me, 

Mother,  I'm  here! 

"Here,  for  I  thought  you'd  want  me;  IVe  brought 

you  all  that  I  own, 
A  lean  long  lump  of  a  carcass  that's  mostly  muscle 

and  bone — 
Six  foot  two  in  my  stockings — weigh-in  at  fourteen 

stone ! 

"Here,  and  I  hope  you'll  have  me — take  me  for 

what  I'm  worth, 
A  chap  that's  a  bit  of  a  waster,  come  from  the  ends 

of  the  earth, 
To  fight  with  the  best  that's  in  him  for  the  dear  old 

land  of  his  birth  l" 


—102— 


CAPTAIN  PAUL  JONES 

Cap'n  Paul  Jones  was  a  Britisher  born,  lie  hailed 

from  the  Solway  shore, 
But  he  struck  a  snag  with  his  folks  at  home,  as 

many  have  done  before; 
He  shook  the  old  land's  dust  from  his  feet,  and  he 

gave  her  a  piece  of  his  mind, 
But  he  never  knew  that  he'd  somehow  left  a  bit  of  his 

heart  behind. 

Cap'n  Paul  Jones   was   a  skipper  of  fame,  and  a 

darned  good  sailorman  too. 
And  a  bit  of  a  bucko,  as  I've  heard  tell,  in  the  way 

he  handled  his  crew: 
He  learned  'em  to  drill  and  he  learned  'em  to  shoot 

and  to  jump  at  the  word  o'  command, 
The  same  as  he  knew  how  they  learned  'em  to  do  in 

the  ships  of  his  native  land. 

Cap'n  Paul  Jones  was  a  Britisher  born,  though  he 

changed  his  flag  and  his  name. 
In  his  "Ranger"  frigate  he  led  us  a  dance,  but  we 

honour  him  all  the  same; 

—103— 


SAILOR  TOWN 


We  used  to  call  him  a  pirate  then,  and  he  certainly 

wasn't  our  friend, 
But  he  sailed  and  he  fought  as  a  Britisher  ought, 

which  is  what  matters  most  in  the  end. 

Cap'n  Paul  Jones  was  a  Britisher  bom,  which  is 
why,  now  the  time  has  come. 

He  knows  the  tug  of  the  Solway  tide,  and  the  rattle 
of  Drake's  old  drum; 

He  is  back  to  the  sea  in  the  old,  old  way,  a  sailor- 
man  smart  and  bold. 

And  the  flag  o'  the  "Ranger"  is  flying  to-day  by  the 
flag  that  she  fought  of  old. 


^104— 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  HUN  KING'S  DREAM 

About  the  dead  dark  o'  the  night, 
Ere  the  first  cock  clapped  his  wing, 

The  Hun  Lord's  soul  had  wandered  far — 
A  shrunk  and  wizened  thing — 


Beyond  Polaris  and  the  Plough, 
And  the  cold  Northern  Crown, 

Where  white  in  space  the  Milky  Way 
O'er  the  lip  of  space  pours  down. 


East  o'  the  Sun,  West  o'  the  Moon, 

In  a  twilit  land  walked  he. 
The  same  where  vagrant  souls  do  range 

When  sleep  has  set  them  free — 
And  a  shadowy  guide  went  at  his  side 

Whose  face  he  might  not  see. 

And  first  there  was  a  place  of  thorns, 
And  then  a  salt  sea-shore, 

—105- 


SAILOR  TOWN 


And  then  a  river  dark  and  wide 
That  no  man  might  cross  o'er; 

And  the  wind  blew,  the  wind  blew 
As  it  could  blow  no  more. 

"What  thorns  be  these,  so  long  and  keeij, 
That  bite  me  to  the  bone?"    .    .    . 

Oh,  these  be  thorns  of  hate  and  lies 
Which  you  on  earth  have  sown. 

**What  sea  is  this  before  my  feet 

That  has  so  salt  a  tide?" 
Oh,  that  is  the  flood  of  women's  tears 

That  fall  and  are  not  dried; 
They  weep,  and,  weeping,  name  his  name 

Through  whom  their  dear  ones  died. 

''What  stream  is  this  so  dark  and  deep 
That  laps  me  to  the  chin?"    .    .    ., 

Oh,  that  is  the  river  of  men's  blood 
Who  perished  by  your  sin. 

There  is  no  boat  shall  ferry  you, 
No  ford  shall  bring  you  through 

The  red  river  that  runs  always 
Between  your  God  and  you. 

-106— 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  HUN  KING'S  DREAM 

There  was  no  light  in  all  that  land 

But  the  far  glare  of  Mars; 
And  the  wind  blew,  the  wind  blewj 

It  shook  the  fixed  stars. 

And  in  that  wind  the  shivering  soul 
Like  a  dry  leaf  was  driven    .    .    . 

"What  wind  is  this,  what  fearful  wind, 
That  rocks  the  stars  in  Heaven?" 

Oh,  that  is  the  breath  of  a  dead  mother 

With  a  dead  babe  at  her  side, 
Beneath  your  iron  heel  who  lay, 

And  cursed  you  as  she  died! 


-lOT- 


NEWFOUNDLAND'S  GIFT 

Gifts  from  a  full  garner — wealth  from  a  brimming 

store — 
How  shall  these  things  be  offered  from  a  seagirt  land 

and  poor? 
I — who   have   neither   gold   nor   jewels,   cattle   nor 

com — 
I  (says  Newfoundland)  give  the  lads  I  have  borne! 

Toll  o'  the  Banks  when  the  white  fog  spins  a  shroud 

there, 
Toll  o'  the   Gulf  when  the  Fundy  gales   are  loud 

there. 
Toll  o'  the  ice-pack  grinding  south  by  Labrador — 
These  things  have  I  paid   .    .    .    yet  will  not  grudge 

my  part  in  war. 

Bone  o'  my  bone — and  in  bitter  pain  I  bare  them! 
Blood   o'   my  blood — oh,   it's   cruel  hard  to   spare 

them! 
Splendid  sons  of  seamen — more  than  life  to  me — 
No  new  thing  is  sacrifice  to  them  which  use  the  sea! 
—108— 


NEWFOUNDLAND'S  GIFT 


Salt   is    the    sea-crust    on    our   land's    wave-fretted 

shore ; 
Salt,  salt  seas,  they  bring  our  seamen  home  no  more. 
Salt,  salt  winds,  they'll  blow  them  home  no  more  to 

me — 
Well  we  know  the  taste  of  it  whose  menfolk  use  the 
sea! 

Bone  o'  m}^  heart — and  the  salt  sad  tides  roll  over 

them; 
Heart  o'  my  heart — oh,  the  wide,  cold  seas  '11  cover 

them! 
Gold  and  gear  I  give  not   .    .    .    life  and  love  and 

all  to  me, 
These  I  give  to  England   .    .    .   to  England  and  the 

sea! 


—109— 


ST.  PATRICK'S  DAY  IN  THE  MORNING 

Oh,  where  is  the  lad  that's  far  away?  .  .  . 
And  what  of  the  one  that  sails  the  sea?  .   .  . 
Oh,  how  will  they  keep  Saint  Patrick's  Day, 
Saint  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning? 


There's  some  will  hear  the  great  guns'  din 
At  the  break  o'  day  their  tune  begin, 
And  the  snipers  welcome  the  daylight  in 
On  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning. 


And  be  they  far  or  be  they  near, 
Upon  that  day  they'll  keep  good  cheer. 
And  make  the  foe  that  meets  them  fear 
On  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning. 


There's  some  will  watch  the  fleet  that  lurks 
By  harbour,  mine  and  fortress  works. 
And  some  will  hammer  the  heathen  Turks 

On  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning. 
—110— 


ST.  PATRICK'S  DAY  IN  THE  MORNING 

Oh,  far  and  near  their  watch  is  set. 
But  be  they  cold,  or  be  they  wet, 
Will  there  a  man  of  them  all  forget 

Saint  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning? 

Ay,  some  there'll  be  so  sound  who  sleep 
In  the  fields  o'  France  or  the  waters  deep. 
They  will  not  know  that  their  kinsmen  keep 
Saint  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning. 

Sweet  Is  the  sleep  of  them,  far  away ; 
And  how  should  they  heed  if  a  man  should  say 
"Oh,  don't  you  remember  Saint  Patrick's  Day, 
Saint  Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning?" 


—Ill- 


THE  HAPPY  WARRIOR 
(Apra  2Srd) 


Heee,  a  soldier  plain,  I  kneel, 
Sword  on  thigh,  spur  on  heel. 

If  I  fall  or  if  I  stand, 

Lord,  my  times  are  in  Thy  hand. 

Three  things  beneath  the  sun, 
These  I'll  ask,  and  so  have  done. 

Clean  hand,  clean  sword. 

And  a  clean  heart  to  serve  Thee,  Lord! 


II 


When  Spring's  turned  and  Winter's  done, 
Life  in  every  bough  does  run. 

Very  sweet  the  Spring  sky  .  .  . 
Shall  a  man  desire  to  die, 
■112— 


THE  HAPPY  WARRIOR 


Die,  and  be  no  more  seen 

Where  streams  run  and  fields  are  green, 


And  the  birds  do  sing  shrill 
Mating  songs  in  April? 

Should  a  man  not  fear  to  fall, 
Lord,  Lord   ...  if  life  were  all? 


-113— 


ARMED  MERCHANTMEN:  AN  OLD  SONG 
RE-SUNG 

By  the  Liverpool  Docks  at  the  break  of  the  day, 
I  saw  a  flash  packet,  bound  westward  away; 
And  well  did  I  mark  how  each  new-mounted  gun 
Like  silver  did  gleam  in  the  first  morning  sun. 

Bound  away,  bound  away,  where  the  wide  waters 

flow, 
She's  a  Liverpool  packet — oh.  Lord,  let  her  go! 

For  thieves  be  abroad  on  the  ocean  highway 
To  harass  our  traders  by  night  and  by  day ; 
But  let  such  attempt  her,  to  take  or  assail. 
They  may  find  to  their  cost  she's  a  sting  in  her 
tail. 

She's    a    crack    ocean    liner — now    catch    her    who 

can! — 
Her  crew  are  true  British  and  game  to  a  man; 
The  pirates  of  Potsdam  had  best  have  a  care — 
She's    the    Navy's    stepdaughter,    and    touch    her 

who  dare! 
—114— 


ARMED  MERCHANTMEN:  AN  OLD  SONG  RE-SUNG 

Bound  away,  bound  away,  with  a  bone  in  her  mouth, 
She  passes  the  Bar  light,  she  turns  to  the  south, 
A  Liverpool  packet  that  stays  for  no  foe — 
Safe,  safe  on  her  journey,  oh.  Lord,  let  her  go! 

Bound  away,  bound  away,  where  the  wide  waters 

flow, 
She's  a  Liverpool  packet — oh,  Lord,  let  her  go! 


—115— 


STORMY  DUSK 

To-night  the  dark  came  stormy  down. 

The  sun  went  red  to  rest ; 
And  fleets  of  clouds  like  battleships 

Filled  all  the  burning  West. 
The  wind  was  rising  to  a  gale, 

It  howled  in  hedge  and  tree  .  .  . 
And  it's  cold,  bitter  cold, 

Where  our  sailormen  must  be. 
Oh,  it's  bitter  cold  this  night 

In  the  wild  North  Sea! 

To-night  I  heard  the  church  clock  strike 

Across  the  gusts  of  storm  .  .  . 
And  I  thought  how  go  the  hours  at  sea 

While  we  are  sheltered  warm  .   .  . 
I  prayed  God  guard  our  ships  at  sea 

And  keep  them  from  all  harm.  .   .  . 
And  guide  them  through  the  pitch-black  tides 

Where  the  drifting  death  may  be, 
And  give  them  soon  a  safe  return 

And  a  fruitful  victory.  .  .  . 
116— 


STORMY  DUSK 


And  Christ  our  Lord  who  walked  of  old 

On  waves  of  Galilee, 
Be  near  our  men  this  night 

In  the  wild  North  Sea! 


I— in- 


THE  LOWLAND  SEA 

Oh,  sailed  you  by  the  Goodwins, 
Oh,  came  you  by  the  Sound? 

And  saw  you  there  my  true  love, 
That  was  homeward  bound? 


**0h,  never  will  he  anchor 
Again  in  English  ground; 

A-sailing  by  the  Lowlands 
Your  sailorman  is  drowned. 


**They  gave  his  ship  her  death-blow 

As  she  was  sailing  by, 
And  every  soul  aboard  her, 

Oh,  they  left  them  all  to  die. 


**They  were  not  common  pirates 
Nor  rovers  of  Sallee  .  .  . 

But  gentlemen  of  high  estate 
Come  out  of  Germanic!" 
-118— 


THE  LOWLAND  SEA 


It  was  no  worthy  gentleman, 
Though  he  were  crowned  King; 

It  was  no  honest  seaman 

That  wrought  so  vile  a  thing. 

But  the  foulest  of  all  pirates 
That  ever  sailed  the  sea  .  .   . 

And  they  should  swing  as  pirates  swing 
Upon  the  gallows,  tree, 

A-s ailing  by  the  Lowlands 
That  took  my  lad  from  me  I 


—119- 


THE  TRAVELLER 

I've  loops  o'  string  in  the  place  o'  buttons,  I've 

mostly  holes  for  a  shirt ; 
My  boots  are  bust  and  my  hat's  a  goner,  I'm  gritty 

with  dust  an'  dirt: 
An'  I'm  sittin'  here  on  a  bgilard  watchin'  the  China 

ships  go  forth, 
Seein'  the  black  little  tugs  come  slidin'  with  timber 

booms  from  the  North, 
Sittin'  an'  seein'  the  broad  Pacific  break  at  my  feet 

in  foam  .  .  , 
Me  that  was  born  with  a  taste  for  travel  in  a  back 

alley  at  home. 

They  put  me  to  school  when  I  was  a  nipper  at  the 

Board  School  down  in  the  slums, 
And  some  of  the  kids  was  good  at  spellin'  and  some 

at  figures  and  sums ; 
And  whether  I  went  or  whether  I  didn't  they  learned 

me  nothin'  at  all, 
Only  I'd  watch  the  flies  go  walkin'  over  the  maps  on 

the  wall, 
—120— 


THE  TRAVELLER 


Strollin'  over  the  lakes  an'  mountains,  over  the  plains 

an'  sea, — 
As  if  they  was  born  with  a  taste   for  travel  .  .   . 

somethin'  the  same  as  me! 

If  I'd  been  bom  a  rich  man's  youngster  with  lots  o' 

money  to  burn, 
It  wouldn't  ha'  gone  in  marble  mansions  and  statues 

at  every  turn, 
It  wouldn't  ha'  gone  in  wine  and  women,  or  dogs  an' 

horses  an'  play. 
Nor  yet  in  collectin'  bricks  an'  bracks  in  a  harmless 

kind  of  a  way  - 
I'd  ha'  paid  my  fare  where  I've  beat  my  way  (but  I 

couldn't  ha'  liked  it  more!), 
Me  that  was  born  with  a  taste  for  travel — the  same  if 

you're  rich  or  poor. 

I'd  ha'  gone  bowlin'  in  yachts  and  rollin'  in  plush- 
padded  Pullman  cars, — 

The  same  as  I've  seen  'em  when  I  lay  restin'  at  night- 
time under  the  stars, 

Me  that  have  beat  the  ties  and  rode  the  bumpers 
from  sea  to  sea. 

Me  that  have  sweated  in  stokeholds  and  dined  off 
mouldy  salt-horse  and  tea; 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Me  that  have  melted  like  grease  at  Perim  and  froze 

like  boards  off  the  Horn, 
All  along  of  a  taste  for  travel  that  was  in  me  when  I 

was  bom. 

I  ain't  got  folks  an*  I  ain't  got  money,  I  ain't  got 

nothing  at  all, 
But  a  sort  of  a  queer  old  thirst  that  keeps  me  movin* 

on  till  I  faU, 
And  many  a  time  I've  b^en  short  o'  shelter  and  many 

a  time  o'  grub, 
But  I've  got  away  from  the   rows   o'  houses,  the 

streets,  an'  the  corner  pub — 
And  here  by  the  side  of  a  sea  that's  shinin'  under 

a  sky  like  flame, 
Me  that  was  born  with  a  taste  for  travel,  give  thank's 

because  o'  the  same. 


-122—- 


SALVAGE 

Not  the  encounter  of  navies  in  battle  array — 
The    roar    of    the    salvoes — the    smoke-wrack    that 
darkens  the  day — 
But  a  mined  ship  with  her  forepeak  full 

Off  the  Foreland,  wanting  towing  ,  .  . 


Not  the  white  flame  of  the  searchlights,  the  red  glare 

between, 
The  heaven-splitting  thunder  and  roar  of  the  struck 
magazine — 
But  a  -fog  rolling  up  Channel  as  white  as  wool. 
And  never  a  light  showing  .   .  . 


Not  the  fierce  dash   of  destroyers — the  bow-wave 

like  snow — 
The  track  of  the  headlong  torpedo  launched  swift 
on  the  foe — 
But  a  ship  aground  off  the  Long  Sand  light. 
And  a  hell  of  a  gale  blowing  .  .  . 


SAILOR  TOWN 


Not  the  stern  splendour  of  battle,  the  glory,  the 

fame, 
Not  the  awarding  of  honours,  the  nation's  acclaim, 
But  a  crew  and  a  cargo  to  take  off  hy  nighty 
And  the  light  fast  going  .  .  . 
(But  ordy  the  duty  and  deed — whose  reward  is  m 
no  marCs  bestowing!) 


—124- 


WAR  RISKS 

**Let  go  aft!"  .  .  .   and  out  she  slides, 
Pitching  when  she  meets  the  tides  .  .  . 
She  for  whom  our  cruisers  keep 
Stately  vigil  in  the  deep  .  .  . 
Sink  or  swim,  lads,  war  or  no, 
Let  the  poor  old  hooker  go! 

Soon,  hull  down,  will  England's  shore. 
Smudged  and  faint,  be  seen  no  more; 
Soon  the  following  gulls  return 
Where  the  friendly  dock-lights  bum; 
Soon  the  cold  stars,  climbing  high, 
March   across   the   empty  sky  .  .   . 
Empty  seas  before  her  bow 
(Lord,   she's   on  her  lonesome   now!). 


When  the  white  fog,  stooping  low, 
Folds  in  darkness  friend  and  foe  .  .  . 
When  the  fast  great  liners  creep 
Veiled  and  silent  through  the  deep  .  .  . 

—125- 


SAILOR  TOWN 


When  the  hostile  searchlight's  eye 
Sweeps  across  the  midnight  sky  ,  .  , 
Lord  of  light  and  darkness,  then 
Stretch  Thy  wing  o'er  merchantmen ! 

Wlien  the  waters  known  of  old 
Death  in  dreadful  shape  may  hold  . 
When  the  mine's  black  treachery 
Secret  walks  the  insulted  sea  .  .  . 
(Lest  the  people  wait  in  vain 
For  their  cattle  and  their  grain) 
Since  Thy  name  is  mercy,  then, 
Lord,  be  kind  to  merchantmen! 


—12^— 


THE  PIRATE'S  ONLY  DELIGHT 

Hey,  bullies,  ho,  bullies,  what  have  ye  seen, 
Flying  with  the  seagulls  where  the  seas  are  green? 

Oh,  I  saw  a  ship  a-sinking. 

And  the  sight  it  pleased  me  well 

(Says  Teach  the  pirate,  drinking 
Red  wine  in  Hell). 

Hey,  bullies,  ho,  bullies,  what  about  the  crew? 
There  were  men  that  watched  'em  drowning  as  we 
often  used  to  do. 

A  fine  sport  for  sharing, 

A  rare  tale  to  tell 
(Says  Teach  the  pirate,  baring 

Yellow  fangs  in  Hell). 

Hey,  bullies,  ho,  bullies,  saw  you  aught  beside? 
Oh,  we  saw  a  drowned  girl  there  drifting  on  the  tide ! 

A  sight  to  split  you  laughing, 

A  sweet  thing  to  tell 
(Says  Teach  the  pirate,  quaffing 

Red  wine  in  Hell). 


CLARE'S  BRIGADE 

Men   of  the   old   grievous   battles,  men  of   Clare's 

Brigade, 
Do  ye  hear  the  troops  marching  through  the  land 

where  ye  are  laid, 
Far  from  the  clear  running  brooks,  the  dappled  sun 

and  shade 

On  the  fair  green  hills  of  holy  Ireland? 

Ah,  but   not   in   the  old   fashion    (men   of   Clare's 

Brigade!), 
Not  in  the  sorrow  of  exile  your  kinsmen  draw  the 

blade. 
For  the  old  trouble's  ended  now,  its  grey  ghost  is 

laid 

On  the  fair  green  hills  of  holy  Ireland. 

There  shall  be  pride  and  love  there  where  sorrow 

dwelt  before ; 
Kind  peace   shall  be  her  portion,  ay,   peace  from 

shore  to  shore, 
And  Patrick's  plant  springing  there,  springing  ever 
more 

On  the  fair  green  hills  of  holy  Ireland  I 
—128— 


THE  RECRUIT 

Bat  and  ball  are  there,  lad, 
And  3'Ou  not  there  to  play  .  . 

"There's  a  nobler  game  playing 
For  Enghsh  lads  to-day." 


And  if  your  mates  miss  you 
As  they  are  like  to  do?   .  . 

"If  my  mates  were  men,  lad. 
They'd  ha'  'hsted  too." 


What  will  your  dad  say 

That  is  old  and  grey?   .    .    .j 
"Oh,  he'd  give  life  and  all,  lad, 

To  be  young  this  day." 

Was  your  mother  not  weeping 
As  you  marched  away?   .  . 

*'Ay,  weeping  she  kissed  me 
As  a  lad's  mother  may." 


SAILOR  TOWN 


And  what'U  your  girl  say  then 
That  used  to  walk  with  you?  .  . 

"Perhaps  she'U  walk  lonely 
Fbr  she  loves  me  true. 

"But  parents  both  and  sweetheart, 
AU  have  said  the  same — 

*If  you  hadn't  gone,  lad, 
I'd  ha'  died  for  shame !'  '^ 


—ISO— 


THE  KNITTERS 

In  streets  that  are  humming 
With  the  city's  stair   .    .    ,... 

Or  where  leaves  fall  rustling 
Tlirough  the  quiet  air  .  .  . 

There  are  women  knitting 
Everywhere  .  .  . 

Knitting  and  waiting 

Through  hours  like  years — 
Not  with  loud  grieving 

Nor  sighing  nor  tears — 
In  their  hands  the  needles 

Flash  like  spears. 

Every  thread  a  sorrow, 
Every  strand  a  prayer — 

("Oh,  where  sleeps  my  dear  one? 
Or  how  does  he  fare?") 

There  are  women  knitting 
Everywhere  .  ,  • 


—131— 


THE  MOUTH-ORGAN 

Oh,  there  ain't  no  band  to  cheer  us  up,  there  ain't 

no  'Ighland  pipers 
To  keep  our  warlike  ardure  warm  round  New  Cha- 

pelle  an'  Wipers ; 
So — since  there's   nothin'  like  a  tune  to  glad  the 

'eart  o'  man — 
Why,  Billy  with  'is  mouth-organ  'e  does  the  best  'e 

can. 

There  ain't  no  birds  in  Plug  Street  Wood,  the  guns 

'ave  sent  'em  flyin', 
An'  there  ain't  no  song  to  ^ear  except  the  squealin* 

shells  a-cryin'; 
The  thrushes  all  'ave  *ooked  it,  an'  the  blackbirds 

'ad  to  flit  .  .  . 
So  Billy  with  'is  mouth-organ  'e  ups  an'  does  'is  bit. 

'Is  notes  is  somewhat  limited,  they  are  not  'igh  an' 
soary ; 

'E  'asn't  got  that  many  things  in  'is  bloomin'  re- 
pertory ; 


THE  MOUTH-ORGAN 


But  when  'e's  played  the  lot,  why,  then  'is  course  is 

straight  an'  plain, 
'E  starts  at  the  beginnin'  an'  'e  plays  'em  all  again ! 

'E's  played  'em  oft  upon  the  march,  an'  likewise  in 

the  trenches; 
'E's  played  'em  to  the  Gurkhas,  an'  Vs  played  'em 

to  the  Frenchies; 
'E   may   be   ankle-deep  in   dust   or  middle-deep  in 

slime. 
But  Billy  with  'is  mouth-organ  'e's  at  it  all  the  time. 

Wet,  'ungry,  thirsty,  'ot  or  cold,  whatever  may  be- 
tide 'im, 

'E'U  play  upon  the  'ob  of  'ell  while  the  breath  is 
left  inside  'im; 

And  when  we  march  up  Potsdam  Street  an'  goose- 
step  through  Berlin, 

Why,  Billy  with  'is  mouth-organ  'e'll  play  the  Army 
in! 


^133- 


THE  FURROW 

An  old  horse  to  the  furrow — an  old  man  to  the 

plough — 
For  the  young  horse   and  the  young  lad,  they're 

needed  yonder  now — 

The   horse,   so   young  and  mettled  he   scarce  had 

known  the  rein, 
That  shook  his   feathered  fetlocks  and  tossed  his 

streaming  mane — 

The   lad  that   used   to   drive  him,   so   strong   and 

straight  and  tall, 
That  dressed  him  fine  with  ribbons   and  groomed 

him  in  the  stall. 

Ah,  there  as  here,  old  Captain,  we  know,  both  I  and 

He'll  drive  a  straight  furrow  as  he  always  used  to 
do! 

The  clods  before  the  ploughshare  fall  heavily  apart, 
But  never  a  clod  among  them  so  heavy  as  my  heart, 
—134— 


THE  FURROW 


To   smell   the   clean  earth  breaking   and  the  kind 

country  smells, 
And   think   o'   the   stink   and    reek   there,   and   the 

bursting  o'  the  shells. 

An   old  horse  to  the  furrow — an  old  man  to  the 

plough — 
And  the  young  horse  and  the  young  lad   .    .    .   how 

fare  they  yonder  now? 


—135- 


AFTER  DARK 

Under  the  blue  sky, 

And  the  white  clouds   sailing  high, 

Where  the  gallant  wind  went  by, 

A  bird  sang  on — sang  on 

Till  the  day  (too  soon)  was  dane. 

And  the  daylight  died 
Ftrom  the  fields  and  the  hillside, 
And  the  moorland  bare  and  wide  .  , 
But  the  bird  sang  on — sang  on 
Long  after  the  light  was  gone — 

Like  a  voice  that  said: 
"Oh,  you  who  weep  your  dead. 
Be  comforted — be  comforted! 
For  the  deed  lives  on — lives  on 
Long  after  the  life  is  gone !"  .  •  « 


■136— 


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LD  21-100m-8,'34 

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